Plan D
by zennjenn
Summary: When all of Rick's plans fail and the prison is lost, the group is separated. Before they can reconnect at their new camp, Daryl decides it's time for Plan "D". But can Carol handle it and is Daryl up to the task of charming this damaged woman in a broken world? Rated T for some Dixon language, but rating may change to M in later chapters.
1. No Rest for the Weary

AN: first chapter in a longer piece. I started writing this before ep. 15 and 16 aired, so Merle is still alive and this is an alternate version to where the show went :) Enjoy and all reviews are appreciated!

Disclaimer - I don't own any of this and make no cash off of it. Sadly :)

Plan "D"

Chapter One: No Rest for the Weary

"Son'bitch!" Daryl cursed as he grabbed the arrow from the biter's eye socket. He ducked as he heard the rattle of machine gun fire and keeping low, ran around the corner of the grain silo.

Face first into another Walker.

He grunted, raising the arrow to plunge it into its forehead, but before he could finish the job, blood spurted out of its mouth and it slumped against him. Over its shoulder, Daryl spotted Martinez.

Martinez smirked; his face, clothes, and hair were covered in dirt, sweat, and gore. "Can't let the biters do all the work. I'll take you down myself, asshole. Been looking forward to it all day."

"Fuck you," Daryl muttered, and using the biter as camouflage, he pulled the gun from his belt and shot Martinez in the face. The man fell back into the dust and Daryl shoved the Walker down next to him.

"This is shit," he murmured. He'd thought the world had gone to hell when it had been overrun by Walkers. But here they were, killing each other and the Walkers had nothing to do with it. He wanted to go back to killing biters – not people. Pissed off, he hauled back and kicked Martinez' body in frustration, "Fuckin' douchebag."

A rattling of rocks behind him had him spinning around, gun in one hand, arrow raised high in the other.

"It's me!" Rick whispered loudly and held up his hands.

Daryl spat off to the side and lowered his weapons. "I almost killed you."

Rick waved it off, his eyes wide, their blue-green depths bright and fevered. Gore and blood spattered his haggard face. "It's over, we have to head back," he said, glancing over his shoulder and pressing himself up against the side of the silo.

Daryl notched an arrow into the crossbow and jammed the gun back into his belt. "He dead?"

Rick looked at him. "No."

"Then what the hell do you mean? It ain't over till that fucker is dead."

"He's gone," Rick said, closing his eyes in exhaustion. "He's got Michonne."

Daryl's eyebrows shot up. "If he's got her, he might as well be dead. She's gonna nail him to the barn door the first chance she's got."

Picturing Michonne as he'd last seen her, trussed up like a hunter's prize and being dragged and then tossed into the back of the truck, Rick knew it was going to take more than righteous anger on her part to take out the Governor. And that was if she got the chance.

"Where's Merle?"

"Retreated," Rick replied. "On my orders. Plan B."

Daryl grimaced and shifted his crossbow to his right shoulder. "Plan B meant we fuckin' back down," he pointed out.

A look of regret crossed Rick's face. "We are outgunned and outmanned here and the Governor's got Michonne. There is no deal, he's going to kill us all. So yeah, we back down. We get back to the prison and we regroup. It's time for plan B."

"Plan B is shit."

Rick grabbed him and stared him down. "We are done here," he said through gritted teeth. "Now get back to the prison. We need to take up a defensive position before he regroups and comes to finish the job."

"I hate fuckin' losin'."

Rick grinned - a mad, slightly unhinged smile that set Daryl even more on edge. "We lost this battle. We are not losing the war."

Daryl shook his head at the pathetic cliché. "We give up that prison, war's over."

Rick shook his head. "We go back and we take up a defensive position and wait." He slapped Daryl on the back. "Go. I'll see you at the prison."

Daryl nodded and quietly slipped away, hurrying through the maze of grain silos and rusted out farm equipment. He stepped into the still and quiet forest. For once, it was clear of Walkers as they had all been drawn to the feed store by the sound of the gun fight. As he moved swiftly and silently through the trees, Daryl thought about how things had gone down. Deep down they had known that the Governor wouldn't hold up his end of the bargain. Before the plague, hell, even in the initial weeks, Daryl would have been the first to throw someone under the bus if it meant it saved his own ass. When push came to shove, you don't hesitate to put the needs of many before the needs of one. But things were different now. He was different. In this new world, you had to stick together and Michonne was one of them. In the end, it hadn't been up to Rick or the group to decide.

It had been Michonne's decision and her sacrifice to make. Give herself up and hope that it was the end of it.

"Stupid fucking plan," Daryl muttered to himself as he approached the spot where he had hidden his bike. He had disagreed with Michonne's decision. He thought they should have ambushed the Governor and his men and ended this shit with a bullet to the asshole's head. But Rick and Michonne hadn't wanted to take any chances, hadn't wanted to risk any more lives than they had too. And in the end, as Michonne had pointed out, it was her head on the chopping block and it was her choice. But it hadn't gone as planned. And the moment he had her, the Governor had made it very clear that he wasn't holding up his end of the bargain; he opened fire on them.

Daryl pushed back the shrubs and branches he'd used to camouflage his bike and stood it up. A movement to his left caught his eye and he spun around, crossbow ready. As the rabbit hopped by, he let the arrow fly and pinned the rabbit to a tree trunk. He strode over, yanked the arrow and rabbit from the tree, and going back to the bike, tossed the carcass into the side bag. He straddled the bike and with one clean motion, kick started it and headed up the trail to the dirt side road and back to the prison.

At least, while they waited for the slaughter to come, they would have fresh meat for dinner.

* * *

The sound of gunfire reached him before the sight of the prison towers peaked above the tree tops. As he broke through the treeline, Daryl spotted Merle standing on top of an overturned delivery truck, shooting down Walkers. His brother turned towards the sound of the rumbling bike and grinned.

"Come on, lil' brother! I'll cover ya!"

As Daryl revved the bike and aimed it up the prison drive, he saw exactly why Merle needed to cover him: the prison yard was overrun with Walkers. They were pouring through gaps in the fence and pressing up against the walls and fences protecting their cell block.

And she was the only thing he could think about.

He had to get to her.

He had to save her.

There was no way in hell he was going to lose her too.


	2. No Way but Forward

AN: Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed! I hope you all continue enjoying where this is going. I'm sorry for the delay in between chapters, but I fiddle with them quite a bit :)

Disclaimer - the usual - I don't own TWD and make no money off of this.

No Way but Forward

Merle was pegging the Walkers off, one by one, from his vantage point and from the guard tower, Carl was quickly and systematically taking them out. Gunshots from inside the prison signalled that the tombs were overrun.

As he rode up towards the cell yard, Daryl knew that like its predecessor Plan A, Plan B was shot to hell.

"Time for plan fuckin' C," he muttered to himself as he swerved the bike to avoid the biter that turned towards him and tried to block his path. Pulling the gun from his waist band, he took the biter out as he raced towards the cage.

Towards Carol.

"Carol?! Glenn?!" he hollered as he slid, tires screeching and engine sputtering, to a stop in front of the cage. He jumped from the bike, turning to jam his knife into a geek's eye as he backed up against the chain link. "Let me in!"

Carl targeted the Walkers closing in on Daryl, buying him some time.

"Daryl!"

At the sound of her voice, Daryl's heart instantly slowed. She was alive. His eyes narrowed and he took a deep breath, immediately calming down. She was there and she was ok.

"Open the cage!" he ordered and in her panic, Carol fumbled briefly with the lock and then it clicked and the door swung open. Daryl stumbled, backing in and slammed it shut. He turned and looked her over quickly. There was no time to say what he wanted to say, it seemed there never was the time or the right moment. A thorough glance showed him she was terrified and exhausted; but most importantly, she wasn't hurt. He squeezed her shoulder briefly and nodded. It was all he could give her.

"Glenn? Maggie?" he barked out as he shouldered past her towards the cell block.

"The prison's overrun. They're pinned down in the loading dock area where the truck is," she explained.

He looked down at her. "Then why are you –" his gaze caught on Beth, barred into a cell with the baby and supplies. He looked back at Carol and nodded as the situation became clear. If they were here, and Glenn and Maggie were out back…

"Where's Hershel?"

Carol's eyes glistened with unshed tears and she shook her head once, sharply.

"Damn," he muttered, looking back at Beth. Locked in the cell with formula and supplies, the girl was the safest out of all of them; and the most terrified. As if sensing the danger, and the fear and terror of the woman holding her, baby Judith was whimpering softly. "We gotta get outta here," he murmured. "Is everything packed up?"

Carol nodded and watched as he grabbed his bag and extra arrows. "As soon as they started coming through the front gate, we grabbed everything we could and put them in the truck. But then they started coming through the loading area and then from inside the prison. And - and Hershel…" she stopped, overwhelmed by the memories. "I decided to put them there in the cell with enough supplies to last in time for you and Rick to come back. Just in case we didn't – we didn't -"

Daryl nodded and grabbing his poncho, stuffed it into his bag. "Is ok." He turned to Beth. "Stay put, you're safer here." He looked down at the baby and frowned. "We'll figure this out and we'll be back for you."

Beth nodded, her eyes wide with fear, and she held the baby closer to her chest.

Daryl turned and stared down at Carol. Her smoky grey eyes were wide and in their depths he read the fear and the desperation. But he also saw strength and a flicker of hope. "You gotta go back into the cage and help Merle and Carl clear out that yard. Rick's on his way and I'm gonna go and help Glenn and Maggie." He wanted to touch her, to give her more than words and directives. There were so many things he wanted to say, to do – but there just never seemed enough time to say 'em or do 'em, never mind say and do 'em right.

But perhaps that light of hope flickering in her eyes was the signal that despite all the things that remained unsaid between them, all the things that went undone, she knew. She nodded, her gaze searching his and what she saw there must have reassured her because she smiled. She unlocked the cell block door, letting him through, and locked it behind him. He stared at her one last time through the bars, and then he nodded towards the cage, turned and walked into the darkness of the tombs.

* * *

It didn't take long for Daryl to come across the bodies. "I hope these fuckers are really dead this time," he muttered as he hurriedly stepped over them. A messy pile in a corner with a crutch sticking out gave him pause. He cursed under his breath, wishing he had been there, wondering if perhaps the old man would still be around. It just wasn't right, none of it was. But this, this pile in a corner, was no way for Hershel to go. "Damn it," Daryl murmured. One more regret, another loved one down. But this one would have no grave; there would be no time to bury him with any dignity.

Daryl reached down and gently touched the crutch, like a touchstone or a cross that could give him some luck. Then he hurried forward, deeper into the tombs.

"Glenn?!" he hollered as he burst through the door into the loading dock area. Maggie turned towards him, her eyes widening in relief.

"About time you showed up!" Glenn shouted without taking his eyes off the side yard. He aimed his gun through a broken window pane and carefully fired.

"My invitation must 'a got lost in the mail," Daryl replied as he stepped up to the window and stared through the bars. Biters in civilian clothes, as well as former inmates and guards, were milling through a break in the fence. More crawled through a smouldering hole and over a pile of rubble in the wall that had once separated the prison's loading and supplies area from another cell block yard. In the meantime, their truck, piled with supplies, sat in the middle of the loading area, facing out, ready to go. Daryl could see bags of flour and cases of canned goods, as well as guns. Everything of value that they had was on that truck and it was overrun with Walkers; they poured over the downed fence and broken wall like roaches. "Where the fuck they comin' from?"

"Rest of the prison and some the governor had bussed in for the occasion," Glenn explained. He aimed at an elderly woman in a flowered dress. "It's like a 5 o'clock blue plate special in Palm Springs."

Glancing at Maggie, Daryl noted the tracks of dried tears that had streaked through the sweat, dirt, and blood on her face. The girl's eyes were haunted. "I'm sorry about your pa."

She nodded, biting her bottom lip, fighting back the tears. She took in a deep, ragged breath and nodded again. "We have to get to that truck and get out of here."

"Plan fucking C," he muttered, pissed off that they had to give up the prison. But he'd figured it would happen eventually. He'd known that unless the Governor was dead, there was no way he'd ever leave them alone – Michonne or no Michonne. But it pissed Daryl off that they were being forced to leave the prison, that it wasn't on their own terms. He didn't like losing. He looked back at the window - definitely looked like they were losing. At this rate they would be lucky if they made it out of the prison alive. "Merle, Carl, and Carol have the front covered," he explained. "We could just go back and make a run for it."

"On what? All of us piled on your bike?" Glenn pointed out bitterly.

"Rick's on his way back."

Glenn shook his head. "We are not leaving without that truck!" he bit out.

"Then we gotta make a break for it, get to the truck, and drive it around to the front yard and pick up the others," Daryl pointed out. He understood Glenn's frustration. He didn't want to spend another winter living on the fringes of starvation; what was in that truck could mean life or death to most of them – baby Judith in particular.

"Beth and Judith?" Maggie asked fearfully.

Daryl nodded. "Good. Locked in a cell with days of supplies waitin' to be rescued. She'll outlast 'em all." He glanced around the supply room. "Any of the guard vests?"

Maggie shook her head. "Truck."

Frowning, he muttered something under his breath and then began a thorough search of what was left. There had to be something useful. As he kicked at some garbage and some wooden pallets, he spotted a roll of duct tape and an idea began to form.

"I'm gonna make a run for it," he stated. He picked up a pallet and began prying off some of the looser wooden slats. Grabbing the duct tape, he began taping the slats together in the shape of a shield, with some tape as a grip. "You're gonna have to cover me." When he was done, he used the rest of the duct take to tape his arms and his neck, giving him an extra layer of protection from the scratches. If he could avoid the bites, he sure as hell didn't want to get done in by a small scratch.

"Daryl, don't," Glenn said, pausing to turn around. In the sudden silence of the ceasefire, they could hear the Walkers pounding against the garage door. "You'll never make it."

"I ain't leaving that truck behind." He knew it was stating the obvious. "Winter's comin'. We ain't gonna make it without those supplies."

He handed his crossbow to Maggie. In a crowd of Walkers it would only be a liability. Immediately he felt vulnerable, and an insidious hint of doubt trickled in, but he fought it back and hefted the makeshift shield up, testing its weight and stability. It was going to slow him down somewhat, but he hoped it would protect him from the worse of it. "Glad I watched all those American Gladiator shows with my pa," he said and forced a half-cocked smile.

Maggie's mouth dropped and Glenn's eyes widened as realization dawned.

"That's all you're going in with?" he asked. "You're nuts."

"It's not going to work," Maggie whispered. "Daryl, don't do this. It's not worth it." But he could tell by her tone that she didn't really believe that.

He pushed past her, letting the shield push her out of the way. "Get outta my way," he said. "It'll work fine if you two do your jobs and cover my ass." He dragged more pallets over to the door and kicked out a couple of slats. He leaned two against the door, leaving a spot in the middle. "You guys need to lay down and have your guns ready to shoot through these gaps here," he pointed to where he'd pried the slats off. "When I open the door, just keep shooting, sweep right across and take as many down as you can. I'm going in and then you fuckin' shut this door and hurry your asses to the window and give me some cover fire. Clear a path to the truck."

Glenn shook his head. "I'm going on record that it's a crazy plan."

"So was covering yourself in biter guts and walking through a crowd of 'em and that worked," Daryl reminded him.

Glenn stared at him, remembering, and then nodded. "Good point."

Daryl took out his gun and checked the clip to make sure it was loaded and he patted his side, feeling his hunting knife. "When I get to the truck, I'll drive it around to the front gate. You two get to Carol and make sure y'all are ready to go." He grabbed the handle to the garage door and glanced at Glenn. "I make it, you owe me a drink. Now get down!" Then, with a grunt, he pulled up on the door handle.


	3. Heroics

AN: thank you so much for the reviews and the follows and faves! Much appreciated. Not sure if I got a handle on the action sequences for this one, might not be my thing :) But after this chapter, we're going to settle if for some sweetness, romance, and angst!

Enjoy and thank you for reading and reviewing!

The usual: I do not own The Walking Dead...

Heroics

As soon as he swung the door open, the room immediately echoed with the savage moaning and groaning of the herd of Walkers. Bullets flew as Glenn and Maggie began shooting through the gaps in the pallets. Daryl took a deep breath and with his gun firing, he rolled across the threshold, under the door, and into the crowd.

"Now!" he yelled as his feet hit the pavement. There was a split second pause and the Walkers milled about in confusion. They could smell fresh meat coming at them from various directions. Then the door rolled down and shut, trapping some of them and slicing off heads and limbs. Daryl used the momentary confusion to start pushing his way towards the truck. Within mere moments, bullets flew as Glenn and Maggie took up their positions at the windows. As he smashed his makeshift shield into a biter, Daryl bit his lip, hoping the shield would hold. As the biters fell back and stumbled, he grunted in satisfaction and pushed forward into the crowd. "Dumber 'n fuck," he muttered as he fired his gun, taking out the Walker to his left. As if giving a signal, the crowd focused on him and with a collective moan, they shuffled and stumbled towards him.

He shoved forward, shooting with his free hand as he moved. Every second mattered, every foot forward counted. But it seemed that he was slugging through mud or quicksand, pushing forward and feeling arms reaching out and dragging him back. The biters crowded in, reaching in on all sides and he tried to weave as much as he could, ducking his head to avoid the hands and the outstretched, yawning jaws. The stench made his eyes water, and Daryl was certain that it would take weeks, if not months to forget the hum the herd made as it narrowed in on its prey. The sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, blurring his vision and without a free hand, he could only shake his head and push forward. Using the pallet as both a shield and a battering ram, he shoved, shot, and forced his way towards the truck.

Feeling the cold, bony clutch of a hand on his neck, he shouted out in anger and fear, and spun around, taking down a couple of Walkers. He held out his gun and fired. At the telltale click of an empty clip, he cursed and planted the barrel of the gun into the eye socket of a dead inmate in coveralls. His chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath, feeling the panic claw up from his guts to his throat. Gunshots hit close by as Glenn and Maggie fired into the crowd. He could only hope that they didn't hit him, and if they did, he took it in the head. Otherwise, he was coming back.

For them, he vowed with a grimace.

"Arrgh!" he grunted, turning back towards the truck. There was enough of a gap that he could switch the shield from one arm to another and he grabbed the hunting knife from his belt and continued forward, slashing his way left and right.

More gunshots and the crowd thinned out as he approached the truck. A path cleared in front of him to the driver's side door and turning around, he pushed back with the pallet, watching the biters fall back like dominoes. Then, throwing the shield into the oncoming crowd, he turned and ran. A step away from the truck he felt a hand grip his vest from behind and Daryl stumbled, falling back.

"Hell no!" he muttered, trying to pull away. He twisted, getting caught up in the momentum, and his feet tripped over each other as he looked up. The Walker grabbed him, pulling him up and up towards its yawning jaws. Spittle, blood, and gore dripped from its blackened teeth and its milky eyes rolled back into its head as it leaned down.

Daryl scrambled, trying desperately to get his feet firmly planted under him, needing to gain some leverage to lunge away. Arms pinned down, he couldn't raise his knife and as the weight of the Walker pressed down on him, he hit something hard and realised he'd stumbled up against the truck. As he struggled to raise his knife, he almost laughed at the irony of it all. He was going to die right there, practically in the front seat of that damn truck.

The bullet took the biter square in the forehead, spraying its brains across Daryl's face and the truck window.

"Son'bitch!" he grimaced, pushing it away from him. Then, grasping for the door handle, he wrenched the door open, and threw himself into the cab.

Keys in the ignition, he started the engine and, ignoring the Walker on the hood, he stepped on the gas and aimed for the downed gate. Some of the Walkers clung to the truck, but most slipped off as it bumped and rocked its way across the loading yard and over the gate. Finally, with a clear line of sight, Daryl slammed his fist against the wheel and careened out of the yard, riding roughshod over any biters that dared step in front of the truck. Past the gate, he swung left at the fence line, roaring over the grassy hillocks towards the main gate. There, he could see Merle still fighting off the Walkers. Racing up the main road was a familiar silver hatchback.

Daryl grabbed the shotgun from the passenger seat and, rolling down the window, he pointed it out and fired off several rounds. He pulled up along the delivery truck.

"Get in!"

Merle grinned and hopped into the back of the truck. "Whoohoo! Let's ride, brother!" he hollered and pounded on the cab.

Both the pick-up and the hatchback raced through the gate towards the yard. Daryl could see the flash of Carl's gun in the watch tower and there, reassuring him even more, was a glimpse of Carol's red sweater through the cage fencing. He came to a squealing stop, tires smoking, and he jumped out of the truck, gun held high.

"Come on!" he yelled out. "Let's go!"

Rick pulled up beside him and Daryl pointed to the watch tower. "Carl's in the tower."

"Judith?" Rick asked frantically.

"We got her, get the kid!"

Rick nodded and jerked the wheel to the left, cutting off some of the walkers and plowing through a couple more as he drove through the thinning crowd towards the tower.

Merle and Daryl systematically took out the biters as first Beth and the baby, then Glenn and Maggie came out of cell block C. Daryl wasted no time in swapping the rifle for his crossbow and anxiously glanced back, sighing in relief as Carol came running out towards the truck. Glenn slipped behind the wheel while Maggie, and her sister with the baby, scrambled into the cab with him. Carol paused for a moment, searching, until her gaze locked with his.

"Come on, sugar," Merle yelled. "Get your eyes off my brother and your ass into this truck!" He leaned over, holding his hand out to her.

Daryl heaved his bike back up, strapped in his crossbow, and straddled the bike, praying it would start. When the familiar roar rattled his teeth, he grinned and spun the bike around. He glanced up, trying to spot Carol to make sure she was safe in the back of the truck with Merle.

He watched the truck pull away.

He watched Carol hold on to Merle's hand.

He watched her scramble to keep up, holding on, running alongside the truck. He heard Merle yelling at Glenn to stop, to slow down, and Daryl could swear, over the roar of the bike, over the gunfire, he could hear baby Judith crying. And he watched as the truck bumped over the bodies of dead Walkers and Merle stumbled. And Carol lost her grip.

The blood froze in his veins in horror as he watched Carol trip and go down hard.

"NO!" he yelled, aiming the bike in her direction. A trio of biters, smelling her fear, her sweat, her blood, smelling the meat, were closing in and Daryl saw her roll over, gun in hand, firing. "No, no, no, no. NO!" he chanted. He pulled up next to her and reached his hand down. "Get on! Get on! Hurry up!"

Carol looked up at him, her face bloodless and drawn in exhaustion and Daryl knew that she had nothing left to give. There wasn't going to be any heroic leap onto the back of his bike this time. He let the bike idle as he leaned down. "You gotta help me out here, Peaches," he said, hoping to egg her on, maybe piss her off enough to get her moving. "We ain't outta this yet."

A bullet took out a biter to their left and Daryl glanced up. Rick and Carl had stopped and were providing them with some cover. Daryl turned back to Carol. "Come on!"

Tears coursed down her cheeks. "My ankle."

He went still as the horrible possibility struck him. If she'd been bit, he'd have to put her down just like he'd done to Dale, except this time, this time, Daryl wasn't sure he was man enough to do it. Biting back the fear, he glanced down, checking for blood, but her booted feet and ankles showed no signs. The relief weakened him, sending a shiver down his spine, down to his very finger tips.

"Yer ankle's fine," he whispered hoarsely. "Now get the fuck on the bike!" He hated the fact that he had to be so harsh, but they didn't have the time and the fear and the nerves were getting to him. He reached down and lifted her up by the armpits, helping her stand. "Now get on!"

She whimpered, but with a grimace, she swung her leg over the back of the bike and Daryl felt her arms slide around his waist. Hearing a growl to his right, he glanced over quickly, aimed his pistol, and shot the nearest Walker in the head.

"You on?" he asked and as he felt her nod, he revved the engine. "Let's get the hell outta here!" He nodded towards Rick and as Carol leaned into his back, Daryl rode away from the prison without looking back.


	4. On the Road

AN: Thank you so much for the reviews. Glad everyone is enjoying it! Now settle in for ALL Caryl ALL the time! :)

On the Road

Plan C had been a result of Carol finally voicing the question that had been lurking at the back of everyone's minds as they had been talking over and discussing their strategies.

"What if we lose the prison? For whatever reason – if the Governor sends biters like he did the last time or if his people simply get the better of us – what do we do then?"

No one wanted to contemplate that possible outcome, but only idiots went into war without a plan of retreat. Plan A had been Michonne's sacrifice. Plan B their retreat and defense of the prison, and Plan C was the complete abandonment of the prison. In Plan C, they split up into 3 groups: Rick, Carl, Hershel, Beth and Judith in one vehicle, Maggie, Glen, Merle and Carol in another, and Daryl on the bike. Taking 3 different routes, they were to rendezvous at an old abandoned summer camp north west of Atlanta in the Georgian highlands, just south of Fort Mountain State Park. Carol had spent a couple summers there as a kid at a Christian bible camp and had mentioned it when the group brainstormed possible locations to bunker down in. Isolated from urban areas, the camp was probably not overrun with Walkers. If there had been people there when the world went to shit, they would long since have headed out to greener pastures in search of their next meal. The camp had shelter, fresh water, woods to forage and game to hunt. Small towns along the way could be pillaged for additional supplies and revisited as needed. In the end, while the site presented possible challenges, they all agreed it would be a good place to regroup and rest. And, as Maggie pointed out, it was far away from the Governor.

As a precaution, neither Merle nor Michonne had been told about their escape plan – either the location or the trio of routes they would take. They were taking no chances of the information getting back to the Governor if they had to resort to this, their final option.

As the prison faded into the distance behind him, Daryl reflected that while their escape hadn't gone exactly as planned, and they were, sadly, one person less, it had worked out fine. He only hoped that Glenn and Merle didn't kill each other before they reached their destination. Considering the animosity between the two, he figured it was likely that one of them was showing up at the camp with a limb missing. Daryl highly doubted his brother would be the one, even though he was already down one hand.

There was no time to stop, to switch cars, to say goodbye. It was too risky and so, with his route in mind, Daryl headed for the interstate where, on his bike, he knew he had a better chance navigating the more congested roads, without incident. After an hour of weaving in and out of the graveyard that had once been Interstate 75, Daryl took the exit and headed north on Route 411. The further from Atlanta and the urban areas he travelled, the fewer cars there were and he noted in relief that they were mostly headed into the more urban, southern parts of the state. It seemed as if everyone had had the same idea. Get to Atlanta or Fort Benning.

As he left the urban areas behind and headed for the mountains, he felt a loosening in his shoulders. The cool autumn wind ruffled through his hair and flicked back the edges of his vest. The only sound was the echo of his bike rumbling across the hills and stretches of farmland. He'd never admit it to the others, but he was happy to put the prison behind him. It hadn't been the idea of losing the prison itself that had stuck in his craw, but simply the idea of retreating, of losing. In fact, he'd never been happy with all them cells and bars. Perhaps it was the suspicion that, had the world not been overrun with virus ridden biters, he'd have ended up behind bars anyway.

Out here on the open road, food and water in his saddle bags, and Carol on the back of his bike, he felt free. He was only responsible for himself and Carol and it was as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. For the next 2 or 3 days, or however long it took them to make their way to the camp, they were free and as he rode that stretch of asphalt that slipped through the countryside like a silver ribbon, Daryl decided that he was going to enjoy it. There was no need to run interference between his brother and Glenn. No fear of coming home from a hunt empty handed and having to see the disappointment on everyone's hungry faces. And, as much as he loved baby Judith, Daryl knew it would be a relief not to have to hear her whimper and cry for her ma. Soon enough, if all went well, their makeshift family would be back together. But for the moment, it was just him and Carol and the road.

Daryl sighed and shifted his shoulders, loosening them up even more as he let it all go. A slight smile played across his lips and he began to hum an old Steve Earl song as the road rolled on beneath his wheels.

* * *

After a couple of hours, he started looking for a place to refuel and rest. They needed to stop running for a bit and he figured they had put enough distance between themselves and the prison. As the tension had leaked from his limbs and bones, the exhaustion had begun creeping in. He was tired, hungry, and filthy and he could only imagine how Carol was feeling considering she'd been at her limit when they'd escaped the prison. They needed fuel and food and he needed to check on her ankle. While she'd been quiet the entire ride, her fierce grip on his waist told him she hadn't fallen asleep. She simply knew him well enough to not fill his ears with useless chatter.

Feeling the bike gear down, she lifted her head off his back and looked around.

"We stopping?" she murmured in his ear.

Daryl nodded. "There should be a gas station up ahead if I remember it right. Not sure what we'll find, but I gotta fuel up. Hopefully there'll be some cars we can siphon, maybe a place to spend the night."

He felt her nod and as they rounded the bend, they saw a couple of abandoned cars and the station. Pulling up alongside the cars, they looked in and spied bodies locked in seat belts, backseats and top carriers filled with whatever people thought was important enough to take with them when the world was ending. Along the road there were a couple of bodies and it seemed as if at least one of the cars had been rifled through.

"All drivin' towards Atlanta or Fort Benning," Daryl commented. "Good sign, they seem to be goin' in the opposite direction we're headed."

The group had discussed the possibility of coming across more survivors at the camp or along the route. While they had been lucky when they had met up with Hershel and his family at their farm, their encounter with the Governor and the residents of Woodbury had left them leery. Their hope was to avoid any further contact. They didn't want anyone to be able to track them or follow them and they sure as hell didn't want a larger group to be responsible for at the moment.

Daryl stopped the bike in the shadow of the station. Silence descended, broken only by the sound of birds chirping and a breeze rustling through the early autumn leaves. Long shadows stretched across the parking lot and the road as the sun began its descent into the mountains to the west. There was a chill to the air and he'd noticed the further north west they drove, the higher up into the mountains they travelled, the more the leaves started to change; here they fell, twisting and dancing in the wind only to scuttle dryly across the abandoned lot.

He hopped off the bike and turned to her. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and cupped her chin, turning her face up. She was filthy and exhausted, her face so pale that the dark circles under her eyes stood out starkly like bruises, making the grey of her irises glow like moonstones.

"You look like hell," he said roughly.

She tried to smile and failed. Looking him up and down slowly, she replied, "You ain't looking so hot yourself."

He shrugged. "Don't care how I look." He glanced around. "Seems quiet. Can you stay here while I take a look 'round?"

She nodded tiredly and climbed off the bike, wincing as her foot came down.

"It broken?"

She shook her head. "Sprained. The boot's keeping the swelling down."

"Don't take 'em off then," he pointed out matter-of-factly and handed her his pistol. "Keep your back to the wall."

She nodded again and he unclipped the crossbow from the bike, shot her one last glance, and disappeared around the corner with the bow slung across his back and his hunting knife in hand.

It didn't take long to clear the site. A quick knife to the skull of the few bodies lying around in the cars ensured none of them would be waking up and attacking unexpectedly. Inside the station, Daryl found freezers full of rotted meat and expired dairy. Keeping the doors shut contained the smell and made the place somewhat habitable. The shelves, like most roadside stations in rural areas, carried an assortment of canned goods and other useful camping items like fishing gear and matches. He knew he'd only be able to load so much on the bike, but he made a mental note to jot down the location on his map for any future runs. Plus, whatever higher power Carol and Hershel had believed in must have decided to cut them a break, because in the back, Daryl found a couple of half-filled gas cans he would be able to use to fuel up. In the morning, he would make sure that they ate and drank as much as possible, there was no sense in not filling up their bodies as well as the bike.

After a cursory check around the exterior of the building, he headed back for Carol, not comfortable with the thought of leaving her on her own for too long. Coming back around the corner, he stopped in his tracks. Cursing under his breath, he shook his head, and hurried towards her.

She had fallen asleep standing up; leaning against the wall, gun dangling from her limp fingers. As he watched, her body, like a ship taking on water, was slowly but steadily listing to the left. Any second she was going to fall over, right into the bike. He caught her under the arms as she slumped.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Daryl?" she asked sleepily.

"I got ya," he murmured.

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head. Damn woman, always apologizing. "Is ok," he muttered. He swung her up in his arms. It worried him that she weighed even less than she had when he'd rescued her from that cell a couple weeks back. As he hiked her up against his chest, she wrapped her thin arms around his neck and he could feel the curve of her spine against his arm and her ribs pressed up against his side. She was a frail bird, weighing next to nothing – goosedown. He carried her into the station store, pushing the door open with his shoulder, and bringing her over to the front corner where he'd cleared away the debris and tossed a couple of blankets and towels he'd found. He laid her down gently into the nest he'd made and covered her with a blanket. Briefly her eyes opened and she whispered his name.

In an uncharacteristic gesture, Daryl leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. "Sleep."

He waited a moment, until her rhythmic breathing told him she'd fallen back asleep and then he stood and stared down at her. He felt a warmth flood his chest and he rubbed his hand over it, trying to make it dissipate. When it only spread, he gave up trying to deny whatever it was and he turned and went back outside to finish securing their camp for the night.

He refueled the bike and packed the bags with as much food as he could fit in them. After wedging a two by four through the door handle, he sat down next to Carol on the pile of blankets. As much as he fought it, the adrenaline that had kept him going since the morning showdown at the feed store faded; exhaustion seeped into his muscles, joints, and bones. He reached out and took Carol's hand in his and with his crossbow cocked and ready, his back to the wall, facing the front door, Daryl fell asleep.


	5. D for Dixon

AN: thanks so much for the reviews! On a positive note - the entire story is written (all by hand in notebooks I carry with me lol) so now I just have to type and tinker with it! Thanks for being patient with me, I'll get it posted as quick as I can. Longer chapter this time cause I just didn't want it to end lol But at least now we all know what exactly Daryl has in mind for Plan "D"

D for Dixon

When Daryl came too, it was dark and quiet and still. Much like Carol had earlier, he'd slumped against the wall and his crossbow had fallen to the floor. The fact that that hadn't woken either of them up was a testament to just how tired they were. He yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and then he glanced down and froze.

Carol had curled up into his side, her head in his lap, her arm wrapped around his thighs.

With a trembling hand, Daryl reached down and ran it softly over her hair. It was as soft as the pussy willows that grew in the marshes back home and the longer strands clung to the calluses on his fingers, wrapping around them. Tears had dried tracks through the blood and grime on her cheeks. He tried to remember what she'd looked like clean, rested, and happy. At the quarry she'd been a ghost, walking in Ed's shadow and at Hershel's farm, the restless nights worrying about Sophia had left her looking haunted. The prison, while secure for a time, had seemed to leach a certain vitality from her. It occurred to him that he had never seen Carol happy. Cowed and beaten down by her shithead husband, yeah. Terrified and devastated by the loss of her daughter, absolutely. He'd seen many shades of Carol, but he didn't think he had ever seen her truly happy. Was it even possible? Could anyone be happy in this world? After what she'd been through, could she even feel happiness? In a world where survival hinged on how much food you could scavenge and how good your aim was, could anyone be truly happy? And if so, what would it take?

What would it take to make Carol happy?

Daryl closed his eyes and winced. What the hell was he doing? Thinking about making Carol happy? All he should be worrying about was keeping her alive. One night away from the prison, a couple hours of freedom on the open roads and he was thinking about what it would take to make a woman happy?

However, once the seed had been planted, he couldn't quite kill it. Daryl knew he was good at a bunch of things. He could hunt and find food; he could track through the woods; and he could take out the geeks. All pretty useful skills to have in this new world. But he was pretty darn sure it would take more than that to make Carol happy. It wasn't like he had loads of experience pleasing women. A couple of drunken one night stands here and there didn't make him an expert and growing up, he hadn't had any real good examples to learn by either. Neither his pa nor Merle had been shining examples of prince charming, and his mom had been miserable.

What the hell did he know about anything other than surviving? And what was he even doing, thinking about this shit. He didn't know anything but what he'd seen in movies. And in the movies, seemed it was all about sweet words, flowers, and grand gestures; fancy dinners and gifts. Last time he'd checked, the restaurants were all shut down and there weren't any flower shops left. He didn't think a Cherokee rose in a beer bottle was going to cut it in the grand romance department.

Even if, he thought to himself for arguments sake, he could do it, if he could figure out some way to put a smile on Carol's face, to make sure she didn't walk around haunted and sad – would he want to? Making her feel things, making himself feel things, was a treacherous path to tread, considering they lived in a world where they could die any day.

Looking down at the delicate crescent shadows of her eye lashes on her smooth, soft, cheeks, he felt a surge of protectiveness and warmth. He ran his finger over the arch of her eyebrow and his stomach sank because he knew all these questions and thinking weren't worth anything. It wasn't even up for debate. Because at some point, in between searching for Sophia and fighting biters, the choice of whether or not he should care, whether or not he should love Carol, had been taken away from him.

Whether he wanted to or not, he wanted her. Loved her. And that opened up a whole world of possible pain.

Or, possible happiness.

Carol murmured in her sleep and moved against him, stretching and kneading his thigh like a small kitten.

"Hey," he said, his voice rough with sleep and emotion.

She woke and spotting his thigh and knee so close to her face, she froze for a split second before scrambling to her knees and putting some distance between them.

Daryl immediately missed the warmth of her body curled up next to his.

"Good morning," she murmured. She ran her hands through her hair and finally met his gaze.

One of the dozens of things he admired about Carol was her ability to look at him straight on. She didn't do it with everyone, and even with him, it had taken some time. But it was how Daryl knew she wasn't scared of him like she'd been scared of Ed. And while there were certainly awkward moments between them, she didn't shy away, or flinch, or avoid him the way she had her husband.

"You hungry?" he asked. "There's lots of food. There's an old Coleman stove, got some fuel left. I could heat us up somethin'."

She stood up, carefully testing her weight on her ankle. She winced slightly and he stood up to help her.

"Is it bad?"

"It'll be fine," she said. "I just need to soak it a bit and maybe take some Tylenol."

"I grabbed some last night, and a bandage in case we needed to wrap it," he explained.

She smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you. Show me where everything is, the food and all, and I'll get something pulled together. You took care of everything last night," she paused. "I – I'm sorry. I wasn't much help."

He grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder. "You were worn out."

She looked at him, at the circles under his eyes and the stubble on his cheeks. It was going to take more than one night's sleep to make either one of them feel truly rested. "So were you."

He shrugged and walked away, leading her to the back of the station's convenience store section. Carol hobbled behind him, trying to put as much weight on the ankle as she could, testing it out.

"I packed up as much as I could and we're ready to go whenever," he said.

Carol stopped behind him and leaned against one of the shelves. She stared around at the abundance. There were more canned goods than she'd seen in many months. It was too bad they couldn't bring more than what the bike could carry.

"Formula? Baby food?" she asked, glancing at him.

He nodded. "Took what there was. You're gonna have to carry backpack."

Carol reached out, running her hands over the cans. So many, lined up neatly, all with their labels facing out. Beans, corn, chipped beef, peaches. She licked her lips, looked up at him, and grinned.

"How long can we stay?"

"What?"

She bumped into him playfully, nudging him, and she winked. "Want to stay here a couple of days and play house?"

He saw it there, written across her face: a glimmer of humour and joy just waiting to spill over. The only thing holding it back was desperation and the remnants of fear. But it was that hint of joy that helped him decide. Plan A had failed miserably, as had Plan B. And the group, under Rick's direction, had decided on Plan C. Daryl figured it was about time for one of _his_ plans. What was the harm in postponing their arrival at the camp for a day or two? He had a great plan in mind – one whose waters he decided needed testing out. Screw Plan C – it was time for Plan D.

"Don't see the harm in it," he replied.

A smile spread across her filthy face and she reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. "Then there's no rush to eat. Let's get cleaned up first. Did you notice any water while you were looking around?"

"Creek downhill, out back. Water's high enough, cold though, coming down from the mountains."

Her face lit up even more as she pushed past him, searching the shelves for what she needed. Spotting a bar of soap and some shampoo, she grabbed both. She turned to him, her eyes sparkling. "The only thing I want more than food right now," she said, rushing the words in her excitement. "Is to be clean." Without a backward glance, she shoved him aside and half ran, half hopped down the aisle. "You might want to clean up too," she shouted back to him. "You stink!"

Daryl stared at her, a ghost of a smile on his face. So far, Plan D was miles better than any of the others.

* * *

He gave her a 10 minute head start and during that time, rooted through one of the vehicles for some clean clothes, towels, and blankets. There was an autumn nip in the air and he knew the stream would be chilly. Last thing he wanted was for her to catch a chill and the damn woman had taken off with her soap and shampoo and nothing else.

As he rifled through a suitcase, Daryl was amazed at what some people packed for the end of the world. Photo albums, jewelry, money, clothes, clocks, figurines, CDs and DVDs. When him and Merle had clued in that something big was going down, they'd packed hunting gear, knives, good boots and whiskey. Practical things. They had drunk all the whiskey the night they'd killed their first Walkers. But the hunting gear, knives, and boots had stood them in better stead than any of the stuff they'd found in people's cars.

Because the virus had hit in the middle of summer, most people had packed for a summer vacation or a cruise. No one had been expecting to have to survive a winter without heat and electricity. A Georgian winter wasn't severe, but it got cold up in the mountains and it wasn't unheard of for some snow to fall. Winter clothes were hard to come by, so they had gotten use to just taking what was there and piling the layers on. Daryl had often wondered how those in the more northern states were faring. As he grabbed clothes he thought would fit him and Carol, he wondered just how difficult a winter in the mountains was going to be. He had a feeling he was going to be chopping a lot of wood and he made a mental note to look around for an axe and saw.

With his arms full of clothes and a towel, he headed out back and down the path he'd found leading to the creek. The woods were quiet, with nothing but the odd rustling in the trees and undergrowth. He made no sound, used to moving silently through the woods. Although there had been no sign of biters since they arrived, there was no way Daryl was letting his guard down, he wasn't going to allow himself to become complacent. That's how you were caught by surprise, that's how you ended up dead.

He paused for a moment, trying to listen for Carol. He'd expected to hear her before he saw her, figuring she wasn't being as cautious. He took a few more steps, stopped, listened. And heard nothing.

And felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Carol!" he shouted.

Her screech tore through the quiet forest, setting birds and small animals racing for cover, and Daryl flew into action. He dropped the clothes and drew his knife, scrambling down the path in the direction the scream had come from. He burst into the clearing along the stream bank and glanced around, chest heaving , eyes wide in panic.

"Carol!"

"Don't look!"

He turned and looked. Caught a glimpse of pale, thin limbs and wide eyes and quickly he covered his own.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Whad'ya screamin' for?"

He heard her splashing as she scrambled from the creek to the shore and there was a rustling of clothing.

"You scared the hell out of me when you yelled my name!"

He snorted. "Seriously? Woman, where have you been living these last months? I scared you?" He shook his head.

"Ok, you can look now," she said, sounding flustered and embarrassed.

He lowered his hand and opened his eyes. She stood, shivering, wrapped in one of the blankets she must have grabbed from the pile they'd slept in. Her hair stood up in dark, damp tendrils around her face and for the first time in weeks, there was no dirt, sweat, or blood on her face.

She looked beautiful.

"I didn't hear you," he explained. "Hell, thought somethin' had happened." He glanced down at his empty hands. "Grabbed you some clean clothes."

Carol chuckled. "Dropped them on the path in your mad rush to save me?"

He flushed and glanced back towards the path. "Somethin' like that."

"I was being quiet. Safer that way," she pointed out, logically. "Didn't want to attract any Walkers if there were any out here."

He felt like an idiot all of a sudden. He hadn't given her enough credit.

"Thanks for the clothes though," she murmured as she stepped up next to him.

He could smell the soap rising from her damp skin and hair. She smelled of the outdoors, of green growing things and mountain streams. It struck a chord within him and he felt an urge to reach out and pull her to him and absorb some of that purity and freshness.

"I'll grab my stuff on the way back. Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll start breakfast. Come on back up when you're ready."

He nodded and glanced around. "You got a weapon?"

She nodded, going over to her pile of old, filthy clothes. On top, within reach, was her knife. She grabbed it and held it up. "Got it!"

Again, he hadn't given her enough credit. At some point, Carol had begun to take care of herself, to make the right decisions for her own safety.

"How's the ankle?"

She grabbed her boots and frowned. "Not sure I'm going to be able to get these boots back on today, but it feels much better now that I soaked it. Just a sprain, some bruising. I'll be fine."

"Be careful going back up the path," he said. Not because he didn't think she would, but just because he needed to say it.

She grinned, her blue grey eyes sparkling. "I will," she said and, holding the knife up in an exaggerated, defensive position, she limped back up the path towards the station.

Daryl watched till she was out of sight, and then he turned towards the water, more than ready for his own bath.

* * *

He smelled breakfast as he walked up through the woods. His instincts screamed that he should shut this whole plan down. Stop it before it got too comfortable, pack up the bike and head out to the camp. They shouldn't be taking baths and cooking up breakfasts. The smells of cooking food would draw out the Walkers or worse, other survivors. The whole thing was a bad idea. Or so he thought, till he came around the west side of the building to a picnic clearing where Carol had set up the Coleman stove on a picnic table and was frying something up in a pan. All thoughts of leaving fled.

The stones crunched beneath his feet as he walked, announcing his arrival, and Carol looked up and smiled.

"We can't bring this beautiful contraption with us on the bike, so I'm using it as much as I can," she gave what looked like a corn beef hash a stir in the pan. "I thought I missed my Maytag the most, but now I think it's my stove."

He laid his crossbow on the table and sat down, watching her work.

"Smells good," he said.

She handed him a mug and grinned. "Wait till you taste it. I make a mean corned beef hash. You'll just have to pretend there's onions and garlic in it."

He smiled and glanced down at the mug. The smell of it told him what it was, but his mind, so used to depravation, had forgotten for a second what it was called. He stared up at her and frowned.

"Coffee," she said, smiling. "Instant, but it's still coffee. With some powdered milk and sugar I found in packets by the coffee machine on the counter."

"Really?"

"Worse coffee I've ever made," she said as she took a sip. "It tastes amazing."

Daryl cupped his hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into his palms. He leaned over the mug, filling his nostrils with the heady scent of roasted coffee beans. The acrid, almost burnt smell hit the back of his throat in a heady rush. He was overwhelmed with memories of the sun drenched kitchen at his grandma Dixon's house, the air redolent with the smell of coffee and fried bacon and eggs. His mouth watered at the memory of fresh baked bread cooling on the window sill.

He was almost afraid to drink the coffee. Afraid it wouldn't taste as good as the memory it evoked felt. Or that the memory would dissipate as the coffee dissolved on his tongue. He raised the cup to his lips. Plan D was all about taking risks so he closed his eyes and sipped. Sweet and strong, it flooded his mouth and the memory of his grandma's kitchen brightened and strengthened. It tasted just like the coffee she used to make for him.

He put the mug down after one sip, savouring it, determined to take his time; to make the time for the niceties.

"Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout. Best coffee I've ever had." As he spoke, Daryl was rewarded with her smile and a brightness to her gaze that he'd never seen before.

She scooped hash onto his plate and then gave herself some. "Wait till you taste my hash," she said. "Bet it's the best you've ever had."

"Better be," he murmured. He took the harshness out of his brusque response with a half-smile.

She paused, hands on her hips, and waited while he took a mouthful and slowly chewed it. "Well?"

He looked up. "Better than the best I've ever had."

She nodded, not even bothering to fight back the smile that bloomed across her face, making her look years younger. She sat down at her own overflowing plate and took a huge mouthful.

Daryl watched her as she paused, chewed a bit, paused again, and then reached for her coffee and took a deep swallow.

Their eyes met over their plates.

"You lied," she said, chuckling warmly. "Your best must have been pretty bad."

Daryl shrugged, cocked a smile, and turned back to his breakfast. "You never asked how good my best was."


	6. Faded

AN: A million thank you's to all the reviews and follows! Warms my heart :) I'm trying to get it out there as fast as I can - if only reality could take a back seat for a bit and let me get to this!

One of the reasons I love the Daryl character in particular are all the contradictions I suspect are there beneath the surface. Maybe i'm reading more into it, or maybe it's Reedus' interpretation but there is just so much to this character that is contradictory and rich.

Enjoy!

Faded

Daryl walked the perimeter again while Carol cleaned up after breakfast. There were no sign of Walkers in the woods or either way up the road. Oddly enough, it seemed like they had found the last geek free zone in Georgia. Coming up the road, his face tilted up to the sun, he found Carol standing in the middle of the road, her hands on her hips, eyeing up the vehicles, one by one.

"What you thinkin'?" he asked.

"That it's a shame we have to leave so much stuff behind," she explained, and gestured back to the store. "Do you have a map?"

He nodded, and heading back to his bike, rifled through the side bags and grabbed a map. Carol took it from him and spread it out on the hood of the nearest car and they bent over it.

"We're here," he murmured, pointing to a rural area off the main interstate. "We're gonna be headin' down this road here to the camp." He traced out the route and then pointed to another set of roads. "Glenn, Maggie, Beth, and Merle were taking this route. Rick and Carl are on this one." The roads spread out like veins across the map, but they all converged at one spot. "Here's the main turn off for the camp and when we get there, we're all supposed to leave some sorta sign when we pass through, to let the others know."

Carol focused on the route they were taking. "How busy do you think this route would have been? Do you think there will be pile ups?"

He glanced back at the route, noting the small towns along the way and he shook his head. "Mostly rural, small towns. Hershel's kind of people, the sort who stayed put." He traced out Rick's route. "He might come across some trouble there. Not cause it's built up, but cause there's lots a vacation resorts and homes up through here. People there would 'a wanted to get back home when the shit hit the fan." He eyed her, askance. "Why?"

She walked over to a GMC truck. "Put the bike in the back and as much stuff as we can haul and drive the truck instead."

He nodded, shifted the crossbow on his shoulder, and he walked over to the truck, looking it over. An old model GMC, he'd have guessed the mileage was high. But a glance inside showed it was clean and there wasn't a spot of rust on the body. Whoever the dead guy behind the wheel was, he'd taken care of his truck.

"It'll suck up more gas," Daryl pointed out. Not wanting to find fault with her idea, he nonetheless respected her enough to treat it seriously and really work through it.

"You found those extra gas cans out back and we can siphon off all of these cars," she said.

He stood back and eyed the truck bed. There were a few boxes and suitcases he hadn't gone through yet. "If we come across a pile up we might not be able to get around it."

"We could use the truck to winch cars out of the way or even push them. Besides, if we get really stuck, we always have the bike," she reminded him.

"Merle will kill me if I leave his bike behind," he mumbled and Carol chuckled.

"At this point, it's your bike. And if he argues about it, well, Rick will just cuff him to another rooftop."

Daryl's head shot up and he glared at her. As the smile spread across her face, he felt that warmth again, deep in his chest, as if he'd taken a shot of bourbon.

"I'm joking," she said. As she walked by him, she patted him on the back. "You should try it some time. Feels sort of nice."

He snorted and shook his head and she just raised an eyebrow and laughed at him. "Ok, that wasn't quite a laugh, but it's a start."

"Don't push it, woman," he said roughly and was rewarded when she laughed again. The sound, both familiar and yet rare, made him smile. If he could make her laugh, then maybe he wasn't so terrible at this courtship thing after all.

He wrenched the cab door open and dragged the old man's body from behind the wheel. He'd given all the bodies around a preventative strike to the head the night before, so he just dragged the body to the ditch and laid it down. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he nodded in Carol's direction. "Well, it's worth a try. Let's go through all the cars and take anythin' that might be useful. Siphon all 'em tanks and fill this one and the cans. Any bodies, we'll drag 'em over here into this ditch. We can burn 'em on our way out."

* * *

Before everything had happened, silence was something Daryl had never really noticed or appreciated because there hadn't been much of it around him. In the Dixon household the TV had always been on and there was usually someone banging around in the garage or yard, or cooking up something in the kitchen. Because there had never been a shortage of women willing to put up with what Merle had called "the good ole' Merle Magic", Daryl had been lucky enough that there was usually a woman or two hanging around the house cooking and cleaning for them. The term 'peace and quiet' wasn't something usually applied to the Dixon place.

While he enjoyed the peace and stillness of the woods and appreciated its necessity when it came to hunting and tracking, he was noticing more and more that he was uncomfortable with the lack of noise. Because if it was too quiet, if it was too peaceful and he wasn't busy enough doing something, then in those moments he was caught unprepared and too many thoughts began to pile in and pile up. Too many thoughts weren't healthy for a man in times like these. These weren't times for deep thinkers. Immediately, the image of Dale and Hershel came to mind. Both men had been kind, caring, spiritual men. Both had been what Daryl would have called thinking men, and thinking hadn't worked out for either of them as he had seen firsthand. He'd had to put a bullet in Dale's brain and had he needed further proof of the dangers of thinking, all he had to do was remember that crutch sticking out of a grizzly pile in a corner of the tombs. Thinking was a luxury you could only afford if you had someone else watching your ass while you sat around on it thinking.

As he pulled a suitcase down from a car carrier and tossed it on the hood of the car, Daryl decided that he was becoming more and more uncomfortable with peace and quiet because it gave him too much time to think and that only led to one thing in this world.

So he fought back the thoughts better left to better, kinder men, and focused on the task before him. Sorting through other people's belongings, looking for things that would help him survive. He'd long since gotten over any discomfort with riffling through other people's things. In his mind, it wasn't stealing from the living because his so called victims were dead. And it wasn't really grave robbing or stealing from the dead because really, most of them weren't actually dead and buried. It was simple logic; almost childlike in fact. But it was survival logic. These people were gone and didn't need their stuff anymore and it could keep someone else alive for another day, another season. The priority whenever they went through suitcases or houses was medicines, then food and clothing, especially winter clothing. Baby and toddler stuff was also important. Daryl was not going to lose another child, and if that meant stealing from cars then he was stealing. But keeping his Lil' Ass Kicker safe and healthy was important.

It was an unseasonably warm autumn day by Georgian standards and the sun beat down on him, the steady warmth broken only by the cool mountain breezes. Birds chirped and the trees rustled and swayed in the wind. To his right, within shouting distance, he could hear Carol sorting through the back of a station wagon. As they worked in companionable silence, he almost didn't notice when she began humming, and when he did notice, he had no idea how long it had been going on. But he stopped what he was doing and focused on her, on the sound of her voice. She had a husky tone, softer and smoother than Beth's pure, innocent voice. He didn't recognize the tune she was singing, but it sounded like gospel and he wondered where she'd learned it. Wondered how much time she'd spent in churches. The camp they were headed too was a bible camp she'd gone to as a child and she wore that cross around her neck. Religion was something he'd associated more with Hershel and his girls, but Daryl remembered now that Carol had prayed that day in the church, prayed that Sophia would return. But he hadn't heard her pray since and he hadn't seen her join any of Hershel's prayer circles or make any overtly religious gestures.

Not since Sophia.

Daryl shied away from those thoughts immediately.

And noticed the silence.

Carol was no longer humming.

"Carol?"

When she didn't respond, he felt fear trickle through his veins and he quickly glanced around, looking for any sign of danger, cursing himself for having let his guard down, for having let thinking disarm him. He picked up his crossbow and stealthily made his way to the last car he'd seen her working on. The hatchback gate was open, blocking the sight of the back of the car. There was no noise at all. He raised his crossbow and carefully walked along the side of the wagon towards the back, then, with one silent but swift move, he swung around, weapon raised.

Carol looked up at him from where she was sitting with her back against the bumper. Her face was a portrait of agony painted in tears of grief and loss. Her fist pressed to her mouth, silencing her screams and her sobs and that, more than anything, hit him. Here she'd been, choking on her pain to make sure he didn't hear her.

He lowered his crossbow and she lowered her fist. She shook her head and held her hand out and he wasn't sure what she wanted, if she was pushing him away or drawing him closer. He stared, feeling uncertain and more afraid than if he'd been facing down a Walker. With the biters, the need was clear. Kill or be killed. But here, facing Carol and her pain and heartbreak, her needs were not so clear. Did she need him to go away? Was that why she'd been strangling silently on her tears? Or did she need him to stay, to share the burden of her sadness?

Daryl leaned the crossbow against the car, moving slowly, as if dealing with a cornered animal. Trying to give her the time in hopes that maybe she would give him a clue as to what she wanted him to do. He couldn't even rely on his own instincts; they were closer to an animal's than a human's. Whenever his father had beaten him, Daryl hadn't sought out anyone. He'd hidden in a corner, a closet, or out in the woods. Like an animal, when he'd been hurt, he'd crawled away to lick his wounds in private and cry his tears out of sight.

In some ways, Carol was like him. She too had been beaten and abused and Daryl had watched her scurry away from her husband to hide her wounds, to hide her pain. And when Sophia had died, Carol had hidden away in the RV. As he stared down at her, he questioned, for the first time, if things would have been different for him if there had been someone to hug him, to wipe his tears, to press cool cloths to his bruises. Would he have turned out different? Better?

Making his decision, he knelt down next to her and took her clenched fist in his hand. Gently he pried her hand open and then rubbed the palm of his hand over hers. With his other hand, he grabbed the t-shirt from her lap and softly, he wiped the tears from her face.

She stared up at him, her blue gray eyes a darker shade of pewter, like a stormy sky at dusk. Her lashes clumped together and her cheeks were flushed. She let him wipe her cheeks and her nose, and finally, her chest stopped heaving and the tears abated. She took the t-shirt from him and he settled down next to her, taking her hand in his and resting their entwined fingers on his thigh.

"You wanna talk about it?"

She sniffled and nodded, looking down at the t-shirt she was twisting in her hands. "I forget sometimes what she looked like," she whispered, her voice husky and rough, as if she had screamed at the top of her lungs. "When – when I try to remember, to picture her in my mind, all I can see is – is – " She bowed her head and gasped as the pain tightened around her lungs like a vice grip, making it difficult to breathe.

Daryl slipped his arm around her, pulling her closer, until she was curled up in the nook where his arm met his shoulder.

She clutched the t-shirt to her chest. "Sometimes I think I remember what she sounded like because I think I hear her in my dreams. But then I wake up and she's gone." A ragged, rough sigh escaped her as she wiped her eyes. "And then I found this," she held up the t-shirt. "As soon as I opened the suitcase, it hit me. The smell. This mom, whoever she was, must have used the same detergent and her little girl, her baby, had the same smell as mine and –" she paused, trying to catch her breath. "- and for a second, I could see her and smell her and hear her. But – but I couldn't feel her and then, then she was gone again."

Daryl felt the weight of her grief settle over him like a blanket and interwoven in the tapestry of that blanket, with the grief, was a sense of guilt. A sense of guilt that, had he been asked to explain back then, he wouldn't have be able to. He had been driven to save Sophia, to find her alive and give her back to her mother, for reasons he hadn't even been clear on. She wasn't his kid. He hadn't lost her that day in the woods, so it wasn't like he felt responsible for her or for what had happened to her. He didn't even think he'd ever spoken more than 10 words to the kid. And yet… There was something that had driven him, there was something else there and looking down at Carol, he realised that his motivation to save Sophia had been intrinsically tied up with his feelings for the woman in his arms.

He pulled her closer and reaching down, took the t-shirt from her clenched hands and brought it up to his face and he inhaled. It smelled clean and fresh, like laundry drying on a line in the sun. There was a powdery undertone that was faint, but still there. One he'd always associated with little kids.

"Smells nice," he murmured.

Carol laughed and sobbed at the same time, and she slipped her arms around his waist, burying into him. He draped the t-shirt over her shoulder so she could smell it, and he gave in to the temptation and leaned his cheek against her hair.

"It's going to fade, the smell," she whispered. "Just like all my other memories of her."

"You gotta find a way to hold on to 'em," he said. "Tell stories about her to keep 'em alive. Find things that remind you of her and look at 'em."

"Like the Cherokee roses," she murmured.

He smiled, his lips curving up and he pressed them to her soft hair. Tendrils curled up and tickled his nose. He'd given her that darn flower. More importantly, he knew now that he'd given her a way to keep Sophia's memory alive. Guess he wasn't so bad at those grand gestures after all, he thought.

"Like the rose," he agreed. "You never talk about her. You gotta. You can talk about her to me. I'll always listen."

Silence descended and he wondered if he'd gone too far, pressed for more than she could give.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked in a small voice.

Daryl felt a great looming chasm open up before him. What the hell could he say to her that wouldn't ruin the moment? He'd never had any indication that she felt anything for him other than gratitude and friendship. Women like Carol Pelletier were too fine for a Dixon. She was too good, too soft, and too kind hearted.

"Don't know," he mumbled, shifting nervously. "Don't suppose I like to see anyone hurtin'."

His answer was inadequate on many levels. Inadequate, ambiguous, and non-committal and he suddenly felt so much, that his feelings were like a pressure on his chest, and he needed to move, to get away from her. From whatever she was thinking or feeling.

"Oh," she whispered.

Daryl shifted again and pulled his arm from her shoulder and stood up quickly, reaching for the crossbow. He couldn't look her in the eye; didn't want to see her reaction to his response. He didn't want to know if she'd been disappointed or relieved at his impersonal reply. He just didn't want to know, so he slung the crossbow on his shoulder and shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to another.

"I'm gonna keep lookin' for stuff," he mumbled.

She scrambled to her feet, carefully folding up the t-shirt, avoiding looking at him.

"Ok," she murmured. "Keep any books you might find as well. The only ones we're going to find at the camp are going to be bibles."

He nodded.

She put the t-shirt back into the suitcase and he reached out and stayed her movement. Her gaze shot up and clashed with his. There was a wealth of hurt, surprise, and confusion in them.

"Keep it," he muttered. "Keep it as long as the memory lasts." He dropped her hand and hurried away. Running away from her and her needs and the awakening response in his heart.


	7. A Deal's a Deal Dixon

AN: only a couple chapters left... Enjoy as he takes one step ahead, feels it out, retreats, and then takes another step forward...

Disclaimer: I don't own TWD

A Deal's a Deal Dixon

Night fell fast in the Georgian mountains in autumn. But by the time the cool winds broke the heat of the day, the truck was packed up and fueled, ready to go whenever they were. They had worked in an uneasy silence at first. Carol, still upset and thinking of Sophia, and Daryl just uncomfortable with the outpouring of emotions and his own seemingly inadequate response to it. But as the day progressed, the task of sorting and packing eased the tension and conversation picked up as they discussed the merits of whatever items they found and talked about what they might find at the camp. As always happens, the incident from earlier in the day took a back seat, pushed there by hard work and the exhaustion that simply comes from living in survival mode.

Daryl sat at the picnic table, carving new arrows, as Carol cooked up some fish he'd caught. In another pan, she sautéed a can of potatoes and some wild sheep sorrel and cress Daryl had foraged in the woods. He'd joked that if they tried really hard, they could pretend they were eating collards.

Carol stirred the pan, staring down at its contents thoughtfully.

"You know what?"

Daryl glanced up. "Huh?"

She paused, fork poised above the pan. "This is the first day in a long time that we haven't run into a biter and had to kill it."

"Damn boring day," he replied. "You're gonna get outa practice."

She chuckled as she tipped the pan and slid a piece of fish onto a plate. "Damn fine day," she corrected. "It'd be nice to have a few more of them. Like when we were at the quarry. Sometimes I could pretend that they didn't even exist. That the only monster there was –" She stopped and Daryl looked up quickly, wondering what had cut her off.

"Was what?" he asked.

She glanced up, a look of surprise on her face. "The only monster there was Ed," she said and laughed. "I can't believe I'm making jokes about my dead husband. How times have changed," she mused, laughing to herself quietly. With potatoes and the 'greens' piled on, she handed him his plate. "No lying this time. If it tastes awful, it tastes awful! You can just say so."

He nodded and dug in. "Is good," he muttered around a mouthful of food.

She filled her plate and sat down across from him. Taking a bite, she chewed carefully and then nodded. "It's amazing how much you actually taste food when it isn't covered in salt and BBQ sauce." She glanced down at the piece of cress hanging off her fork. "Who knew you could eat this stuff? I always thought it was just weeds."

"All kinds of stuff grow in these woods," he explained. "Weeds, berries, nuts, bark. Between what's growin' in there and what's breathin', you can survive off the land."

She nodded and took another bite. "Still, seems kind of plain without any spices. I miss ketchup."

Daryl shrugged. "I like it plain and simple."

"Do you now?" she asked in a teasing voice and eyed him over their plates.

Daryl froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. He felt his ears burn and knew his face must have been as red as a barn. His eyes met hers and he read the challenge there. The dare. And he wondered what was in those potatoes because she wasn't looking away and she wasn't backing down.

"You flirtin' with me?" he asked finally, taking a bite of food.

She shrugged and smiled. "And if I was?"

Christ. Payback's a bitch, he decided as she gave him a perfectly ambiguous and inadequate answer.

"If you was," he said slowly, feeling his way through the suddenly volatile conversation. "I suppose I should let you." He glanced up, gauging her response. Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips.

"And?"

His eyes widened and he looked at her innocently. "And what?"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Urgh!"

"What?" he asked, fighting back the grin that threatened.

"You're supposed to say that you would flirt back!" she exclaimed and, picking up a piece of cress from her plate, she threw it at him.

When it smacked him in the face, her mouth dropped open in surprise and quickly she covered it to stifle the laughter.

Without taking his eyes off of hers, Daryl reached up and peeled the soggy food from his face and popped it into his mouth. He chewed it carefully, never shifting his gaze from hers. Her laughter started to slip out, no matter how hard she tried.

"Woman," he finally said. "You make the world's worse greens."

Carol gasped. "What?"

He shrugged, looking down at his plate and digging into more food.

"You asked for it," he pointed out.

"What? Asked for what?"

"Flirtin'," he said, deadpan. "That's what we Dixon's call flirtin'." And as he looked up at her, he couldn't hold it in any more.

To both of their surprises, Daryl Dixon began to laugh.

* * *

Damn woman.

Daryl took one last look around the station. It was as quiet as a churchyard. Or rather, as quiet as churchyards used to be before the dead began walking among the living. Through the glass door, he could see the glow of candle light shimmering like light reflecting on water.

Damn her.

He was scared to go in. He was scared to see her, lying there, curled up around herself, as if protecting all her soft spots. Carol didn't sleep all sprawled out. Only people who felt safe and confident stretched out in their sleep, letting themselves be vulnerable and open to attack. She slept curled up, trying to take up as little space as possible. He imagined Ed had taken up most of their bed. He figured that after Ed had satisfied his needs, he'd sprawled out and started to snore, leaving his wife cowering.

Daryl pushed that thought away. He didn't want to think about Ed.

But now… now he was thinking of Carol. Carol and her needs. Not the emotional ones, cause trying to figure those out was an impossible task. But her physical needs were another matter. Daryl had been so busy surviving that he hadn't given much thought to any needs beyond the ones that kept him alive: food, water, killing biters. But after one relaxing day, here he was thinking of other needs.

Hers.

His.

Damn that woman for making him think! She'd be the death of him one day.

He paused, his hand on the door handle. He took in a deep, shuddering breath as he faced up to the one need he had been denying for months.

His need for her.

God, he needed her. Her smile. Her soft voice. The touch of her hand. The looks she gave him and the way she always searched for him when they came back from a run to make sure he'd survived. At some point, all those things had become as important to his survival as his crossbow. And now, now he needed more; hungered for more than a look and a smile. He yearned for the feel of her skin against his, for the taste of her on his tongue, for the dampness of her hot breath against his ear.

"Shit," he muttered, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. The heat rose in him and his hands clenched into fists as the need surged, feeding his arousal.

Daryl decided on a game of chance. With his forehead and hands pressed against the glass, eyes closed, body trembling in arousal, he made himself a deal. Some people made deals with God, and some made deals with the Devil. Daryl didn't really believe in either, so he'd always made his deals with fate. It was a game he used to play with himself when he was a boy. If he counted to ten and opened his eyes and the dog was still sitting on the porch, then he would sneak a cookie. If he got caught, he'd get a beating. Or, if he came home and the door was unlocked, he would watch his favorite show. Again, if his dad came home and he was caught, Daryl would get a beating. In these little games of chance he had played, there was always a potential reward for breaking the rules. And while the outcome could quite possibly result in a beating, the rush of making a deal with fate was sometimes worth it. Because if the dog was sitting on the porch and if the door was unlocked, then Daryl would tell himself it was meant to be and he couldn't possibly get caught.

This time, however, the deal he made with himself had nothing to do with a cookie or a favorite TV show; and if there was some rule he was breaking, no one had told him about it. The deal this time was simple. If he opened the door and Carol was asleep, he would simply let her sleep. He'd watch over her, make sure she was safe. If she was asleep, it meant she was supposed to be asleep and he was supposed to leave her be.

But if she was awake…

He pressed both palms into the door and shifted, rolling his forehead against the glass, trying to cool the heat within.

If she was awake then he would go to her and he would wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close. With her back cradled against his chest, he would run his hands slowly, gently over her hips, up the curve of her tiny waist, to the soft swell of her breasts. Daryl pictured her head falling back to his shoulder, exposing the slope of her neck. And in his fantasy, he pressed his lips against her flesh, inhaling the scent of spring water and tasting the saltiness of her skin. Her lips would part and she would gasp his name.

She would turn around, face him, and Daryl would be able to see his need mirrored in her gaze. She would reach for him, rising up on her toes, and she would press the length of her body against his, letting his arousal nest in the warmth between her thighs. And he would kiss her. Finally. After all the longing glances, the nods, the casual touches, he would know the taste that was uniquely hers.

They would kiss and kiss, like in the movies Merle's women would rent on weekends. Chick flicks where the tall good-looking guy always started out as an asshole but the woman wanted him anyway and ended up loving him regardless. When he kissed Carol, Daryl knew it would be like in the movies. Magic. It had to be, didn't it? After all she'd gone through with her husband the woman deserved a kiss worthy of a Hollywood movie. And in his fantasy, Daryl was the man to give it to her.

If…

If she was awake when he walked through the door. That was the deal. He'd give her that magical kiss and after, well after…

His fantasy stuttered to a halt at that point. His imagination only stretched so far and the only movies he could base the rest of his fantasy on weren't ones worthy of Carol. It wasn't like he had experience he could draw on either. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't build a fantasy on his own drunken fumblings in the back of cars. She deserved better, and whatever that was, Daryl didn't know it; had never seen it, never done it. Those stupid chick flicks weren't any help either. After the magical kiss, the scene faded to black and the credits rolled.

Fucking shit.

What the hell was he thinking? Making that deal? Now, if he walked in and she was awake, he'd have to follow through with it. A card laid is a card played, as Grandma Dixon always said. Once you made a deal, you were bound to it.

Damn it.

Daryl stepped away from the door. Only one sure way to get out of this one was to not open the door in the first place. Just walk away. As long as he didn't open the door, he'd never know if Carol was awake or asleep.

He stared at the door, his reflection staring back at him, shimmering in the soft candlelight that teased the shadows. He took a deep, shuddering breath and unclenched his fists and with a curse, he spun around and strode away. Away from Carol and his fantasies.


	8. Pretty Things

Disclaimer - I don't own TWD

Pretty Things

That night, Daryl made an extremely thorough check of the perimeter and by the time he finally made his way back to the station, he had stayed out long enough to guarantee that Carol was asleep. He'd fulfilled his end of the deal and he'd kept vigil over her curled up body as she slept. At the break of dawn, he'd gone down to the creek to fish and on the way back up the path, he cleared out the snares he had set the day before. Coming around the corner of the station with fresh fish and a couple rabbits, he found Carol. She was humming as she swayed by the Coleman stove. He was pretty sure there wasn't much fuel left, but true to her word, the woman was going to use up every last bit of it; and have a hell of a time doing it, he mused as he watched her do a little two-step to the music in her head. For a second his heart stopped as a vision struck him with such clarity that it stole his breath. Carol in a pretty blue sundress, showing off her tanned arms, her hair teasing her cheeks as she danced around a sun drenched kitchen.

As if sensing his presence, she looked up and smiled. Her smile was the widest, the brightest he'd ever seen.

"Good morning," she called out, waving him over.

"Morning," he mumbled and wanted to wince when her smile dimmed slightly at his lackluster greeting. Then, as if with a determined effort, she smiled at him again. "I've got the last of the coffee here and we're having pancakes this morning. Come and eat."

He hung his catch from a nearby branch and headed towards the table. Sure enough, she'd found a pancake mix and she'd cooked up a can of peaches in their own syrup. It looked delicious and the coffee smelled like a bit of heaven.

She handed him a plate. "Not as fluffy as homemade buttermilk, but better than nothing."

He sat down and took a sip of coffee. It tasted as good as it smelled and as he bit into the pancakes, they fulfilled their promise. Carol took a bite and sighed in satisfaction, leaning forward, elbows on the table, eyes half shut in bliss.

Daryl couldn't help but stare at her and his throat thickened and his mouthful of pancakes got stuck. Covering the cough, he hurriedly sipped his coffee. She looked so beautiful this morning and that look of bliss on her face had struck a chord deep within him. She looked rested and fresh and young and carefree. The way he imagined she'd looked if she'd never met Ed, never lost her daughter, and never had to kill.

"How's the ankle?"

Her eyes popped open and she shrugged. "Better. I soaked it in the creek before going to sleep and took some of those pain killers you found. Knocked me right out, but the swelling's gone and there's just a bit of tenderness. Got my boots back on."

He nodded and went back to eating.

"What time did you come in last night?" she asked in a casual tone.

Daryl paused, and then forced himself to choke down another bite. "Late," he mumbled around his mouthful of food. "Set some snares and secured the perimeter."

She nodded, accepting his explanation and then she sighed, looking around the picnic site. "We're going to have to head out, aren't we?"

Sipping his coffee, Daryl tried to ignore the way his heart dropped at her words. They would have to leave. Couldn't stay there forever; they had to meet up with the others. Funny how, in the last 24 hours, he hadn't thought of the others much. Since they'd been together at the prison, seemed all he'd thought about was the others and their welfare. But here, with just him and Carol, it had truly been a respite from it all.

"Figured we'd head out tomorrow morning," he replied. "We got a good few hours ahead of us and depending on if we get caught up in some trouble, could take longer. Don't know what we're gonna find there either, so I wanna be there long before nightfall."

"I hope they're alright," she murmured quietly, all her previous joy gone, replaced by worry and concern.

"We're alright," he pointed out. "They will be too."

She nodded and sipped her coffee. "So….one more day of playing Mr. and Mrs. Dixon," she said playfully.

This time there was no covering it up. Daryl choked on his peaches.

"What?" he sputtered.

She laughed. "Playing house, remember?"

He bowed his head, his face blushing, his ears burning furiously. "Yeah."

"So what do you want to do on our last day, Mr. Dixon?"

"Mr. Dixon was my pa," he muttered. "He would'a spent it like every other day – mean and drunk."

He flinched when he felt her hand close over his and his gaze shot up, locking with her soft, sympathetic one.

"You're not your father Daryl," she murmured. "That's not what I meant."

Her hand was so warm and soft in his that Daryl wanted to turn his over and entwine his fingers with hers. His need and his instincts warred within him. Before it could be decided, she withdrew her hand and returned to her food.

"I know what I want to do," she said with a smile.

He gulped. Oh shit.

She eyed him, her gaze traveling over his face.

"I'm going to cut your hair."

His hand flew up to his hair and he frowned in consternation.

"What's wrong with my hair?"

She chuckled. "Don't get me started."

He grunted and mumbled something unintelligible and looked up at her through the hair in question as it hung in his eyes. "What else you gonna do? My nails?"

She laughed. "Sure, we could both use a pedicure and a manicure. Always wanted to go to one of them fancy shops and have my nails and toenails done."

"Why didn't you?"

Her mouth pulled down and she shrugged. "Ed wouldn't have let me. He didn't want to spend the money and didn't want me looking nice. I could never wear pretty things." She ran her hand over her hair and put on a brave smile. "So we could do that. I'll do your nails and you can do mine."

The look he shot her was filled with pure terror and one he reserved for hoards of raving Walkers.

"And," she continued, ignoring him. "I just want to sit around in the sun, and read, and eat, and nap, and maybe play cards and then eat and read some more."

"Be careful now," he warned. "You're startin' to sound like one of them rich trophy wives."

Carol burst out laughing. "You think? Eating bonbons and watching my servants dust my mansion? I would need a miniature dog of some sort."

"A Chihuahua," he added, building on the fantasy. "With its own fancy designer bag you can carry 'im around in."

"Daryl Dixon!" she stated in shock, her arms crossed, a gleam of humor in her eyes. "You watched those shows didn't you?"

He shook his head and gave her a mean little grin. "Merle did."

They both laughed at the image of Merle settling down on the couch with a beer to watch the latest episode of the "Real Housewives of Atlanta."

"I'm going to have to bug him about that when I see him," she said, laughing. "I suppose we all had our guilty pleasures when there was the time for them. But there's no way I can keep that one under wraps."

Daryl looked at her in surprise.

"You gonna talk to him?"

She shrugged. "Not much point in avoiding him is there? The camp's not that big. And while Merle certainly doesn't fall into the 'last man on the planet' scenario, thank God, the world has gotten rather small, hasn't it?"

"Is it that easy for you?" he asked, warmed by her seemingly easy acceptance of his brother, despite all he'd done.

Carol shot him a steely look. "No. Don't get me wrong. It's not going to be easy. Merle's a mean son of a bitch and if he makes one wrong move, hurts you or anyone else I love, I will not stop Rick or Glenn from putting him down like one of them biters. I'll do it myself if I have to."

Daryl's eyes widened. Had she just said what he thought she'd said?

"But we've left the prison behind us," she continued. "And Woodbury too. And I think we all deserve a fresh start and that means giving everyone a second chance." She popped the last bite of pancake into her mouth with a flourish.

Daryl didn't think he'd heard anything she'd said after that first statement. In fact, he was still trying to decide if he'd heard her correctly.

Carol stood up and began clearing their breakfast. "Now finish eating and go down to the creek and wash your hair. I'll cu-"

His hand snapped out and grabbed hers in a firm clasp. She stared in surprise, dropping the utensils into the dirt.

"What-" she looked down at him.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely.

Her delicate eyebrows lowered and a line puckered her forehead as she frowned. "For what?"

"For having such a big heart."

Her features softened and she smiled. Reaching out, she ran a hand gently over his hair and then clasped his cheek. "Oh, Daryl Dixon, you have no idea how big my heart is." Then, to his utter shock, Carol leaned down and softly pressed a kiss to his lips.

She straightened up, and with a wink, she grabbed the rest of the plates and headed for the bucket she'd been using for cleaning up. "Now go fetch me some water so I can do the dishes and don't forget that hair!"

Daryl watched her saunter away and he sat, dumbfounded.

What the hell had just happened?

All he knew was that warmth that had taken up residence in his chest had now spread to every part of him. He felt – dare he even think it? But he felt warm and happy all over.

* * *

At some point during the day, either when Carol had wrapped an old towel around his shoulders and cut his hair, or when she'd dared him to let her tidy up his nails after she'd done her own, Daryl came to a startling realization.

Although he'd never actually voiced his own purpose when it came to Plan D, Carol seemed to have clued in and given over to it much better than he had. She had given in to the illusion of safety represented by their idyllic surroundings and she'd truly left their troubles behind with complete and utter abandon. It wasn't just about playing house. She had figured out what to do with this gift of time and abundance, and then she'd simply done it. Cook? Sure, why not? Eat? As much as she could find and jam into her mouth. Read? Bathe? Play cards? Sing? She'd done it all. And as the hours of their last day slipped past, all the cares and troubles slipped away with them and the haggard lines of suffering faded from her face as her smiles deepened and her eyes gleamed.

She was a new woman. A Carol unleashed and like a rose growing from concrete, she'd flourished here, in this sheltered spot in their broken world.

She'd embraced Plan D with religious fervor. But Daryl had fought it. Part of him knew that in order for her to enjoy this time, he had to stay alert to the dangers. He had to walk the perimeter and keep watch. His crossbow was always within reach and his knife stayed in his belt. But he realised that he was fighting other instincts, smothering other needs. He'd wanted to give her this time, to see her happy and he'd doubted his ability to do it. But he realised that he _had_ done it. He'd given her a respite in which she could find herself again. And now he realised it was time to allow himself to do what Carol had done: let go and see just who he really could be with her.

Something she'd said over breakfast gave him an idea and he went back to the abandoned cars, to the suitcases they had gone through the day before. There was something there, and there was something he needed to do. He went through the expensive suitcase until he touched something soft and silky and he pulled it out. Shaking it out, the cornflower blue dress fluttered in the early evening breeze and it was even prettier than it had been the day before. He hadn't grabbed it, figuring it wasn't something they would really need. Not much use for fancy clothes anymore. But for tonight it would be perfect. He finished going through the case, took everything else he might need, and he went to find her.

It wasn't difficult. She'd grabbed a lawn chair and all afternoon she'd been chasing the sun. As it slid across the bright blue sky, Carol moved her chair so that she was always bathed in the direct rays, soaking the heat right into her bones, as if storing it for the winter ahead. He found her in the parking lot, facing west, drinking in the last of the day's sunlight.

He tossed a plastic bag in her lap, knocking the book she was reading to the ground.

"Hey!" she protested, looking up.

"Whatever," he muttered, then realised he wasn't winning any personality contests and if he was going to do this, he'd better do it right. He cleared his throat, thinking back to those chick flicks. "Carol, I – um – was – would you – I mean I was thinkin' – " As he stumbled, his face flushed and he could hear his brother's voice, mocking him.

'Come on, lil' brother. Get to the fuckin' point! Drop the fancy words. They ain't you. It's not what we Dixons do.'

Sometimes Merle was right.

Daryl took another deep breath and tried again.

"Carol, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

The silence was deafening and to Daryl it seemed to stretch on forever. If there had been a clock around, he was sure he'd have heard it ticking. As it was, he swore he could hear the crickets sounding in the woods.

He glanced down at her, saw the shock on her face, and he shifted and gestured to the bag. "Found something nice you could wear. You said – well you said that Ed never let you – so there you are. And I'm gonna cook for you. Um – I'll pick you up in an hour." Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

There was no way he was giving her an opportunity to say no.


	9. Better than the Best

AN: Thank you all so much for the encouragement and reviews! We are almost done... Enjoy :)

Rating - slightly higher than a T this time, verging on M I think? :)

Disclaimer: I don't own TWD.

Better than the Best

In the broken mirror of the station's public bathroom, Daryl combed his hair and eyed his jaw line. Getting ready in the feeble light spilling in through the open door had been problematic, but he had managed. He'd found razors and shaving cream in a trendy leather satchel, and had managed to shave himself without slicing open his jugular. There had been expensive aftershave and cologne in the bag as well, but he'd vetoed it as soon as he'd smelled it. What he hadn't vetoed was the white shirt and clean pair of jeans. Although the shirt was wrinkled, it was clean, and he'd tucked it into the jeans that had neither holes nor blood on them. With one last look, he nodded. He'd have to do. It was the fucking apocalypse, what more could anyone expect?

He strode from the bathroom towards the front of the station. Dusk was settling in and the last of the sunlight was stretching across the tops of the trees, dappling the parking lot with dancing shadows. He walked over to the door and hesitated for a moment.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," he muttered, quoting his grandma. He raised his hand and knocked on the door, feeling more than slightly ridiculous.

It opened quickly and looking up at Carol, Daryl felt his heart seize in his chest. Who was this woman, he wondered. Never in a million years would he have thought he'd have a chance to date a woman like her.

She stepped from the dim store into the last of the daylight and it warmed and gilded her in gold and silver. The blue dress hung loosely on her slight frame, but the colour brought out the incandescence of her eyes and they gleamed like moonstones. Her hair seemed to have a mind of its own, and it curled around her face, framing her flushed cheeks and her pink lips. She'd used everything he'd given her: the make-up, the dress, and the heels. She'd used all the pretty things. She'd even sprayed on some of the perfume he'd found with the cologne. She'd been braver than him.

As Daryl breathed in the spicy scent, he was grateful for her courage.

It might have taken the end of the world, he thought to himself, but Daryl Dixon had one hell of a date on his arm.

He cleared his throat. "You look beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough.

Carol's eyes sparkled and her lips parted in a shy smile. "Thank you. You look very handsome."

He shifted, embarrassed, and glanced down at his feet. "Shirt's damn uncomfortable," he said, as he pulled at the collar. "I look like a waiter."

She reached out and stayed his hand, adjusting the collar. "You look great. Just say, 'thank you, Carol.'"

He snorted and glanced up at her, a half smile playing across his lips. "Thank you, Carol."

"That's better."

He held out his arm. "Diner's over this way."

She slipped her arm through his and they headed for the picnic table.

"What restaurant you taking me too?" she asked teasingly.

Daryl was stumped. She was really taking this pretend thing seriously. He thought back to those darn movies, hoping something would come to mind.

"Um… Chez Dixons," he replied, and Carol chuckled.

"A French restaurant! Perfect."

"Damn French," he muttered, wondering how the hell he was going to keep this up for the whole dinner. He should have called the damn restaurant Dixon's Hellhole - would have been much easier keeping that illusion going.

As they approached the table, Carol faltered slightly and he felt her tremble.

"Oh, Daryl," she whispered, her voice cracking. "It's beautiful."

He wasn't sure if it was beautiful, exactly. But he was sure he'd tried to make it look good for her. He'd thrown an old sheet over the table and placed a few candles and lanterns around, lighting the area with a soft glow. Mismatched plates, plastic cups, and cheap tin utensils were set out, and in the middle, he'd filled an old soda bottle with some late summer wildflowers he'd found in the woods.

He shrugged. "Just some stuff I found lying around." He urged her forward and helped her sit at the table. Grabbing a jug filled with cold water, he held it up. "Somethin' to drink?"

She grinned and held out her plastic cup. "White wine? I'd love some!"

He just shook his head at her silliness and filled her cup. Then, grabbing the pan he'd set aside, he tipped some fish and canned beans on her plate.

"Ain't as good as yours," he said, feeling self-conscious. He sat down across from her and stared down at the fish. He poked at some of the crispier edges. Damn woman had used up all the fuel in that Coleman and he'd had to go back to cooking over an open fire.

"Whenever I had a chance, I used to watch those cooking shows and the fancy chefs would just call this 'blackened' fish," she said, grinning as she peeled off a piece of charred skin.

Daryl looked up at her, not sure if he believed her or not, figuring she was just trying to make him feel better. "What the hell do they know," he replied. "Burnt's burnt."

She chuckled and they ate in silence, simply listening to the night. While Daryl would have been content to continue eating in silence, he felt like he should say something, have a conversation of some sort. It was just so damn hard to be someone he wasn't. Despite the fancy shirt and the clean shave, he was still Daryl Dixon: a man of few words, man of action and small gestures. Looking at the beautiful woman sitting across from him, he knew that if any of this was real, if any of it was going to work, Carol would have to want him exactly as he was. And he wasn't a man who knew shit about French restaurants, wine, or fancy food. But if what she'd said earlier was true, then Carol already knew that. And she was fine with it.

He nodded to himself and let go of the need to talk.

When they were done, he sat back and stared up at the star filled sky. "Gonna be a cold winter," he said, finally breaking the silence.

Carol ate her last bite and set her fork down. "How do you know that?"

"Moss on the trees thicker than usual."

"How do you know all this sort of stuff?"

He shrugged. "Spent a lot of time in the woods, when I was growin' up. Saw things. Paid attention and watched."

She nodded, tilting her head to the side, watching him. "You're a useful man to have during times like these."

He snorted. "Suppose it's good to be useful and good at something finally."

Her gaze widened and Daryl immediately wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"You didn't feel useful before?"

He pushed some fish bones around his plate, not meeting her eyes. "Nah, pa used to tell me all the time I was good for nothin'. Had a hard time in school, couldn't keep a job. Didn't do what he wanted or expected of me."

She reached across the table and, like she'd done earlier at breakfast, she laid her hand on top of his.

"You're a good man, Daryl. I didn't know you before, but the man I see in front of me now is good and honourable. I couldn't ask for a better man."

Their gazes locked and Daryl gave in; in to his instincts, to his needs, and his hunger. Most of all, he gave in to the light that shown from her eyes – a light filled with confidence and belief in him. With her looking at him like that, he felt like he was capable of doing anything, being anyone. He knew he could be the kind of man Carol Pelletier deserved. So he turned his hand over and entwined his fingers with hers and felt a deep sense of relief as all the tension in him loosened and slipped away.

She held his gaze, smiling. "Took you long enough," she whispered.

"For what?" he asked gruffly.

"To figure out what you wanted," she replied.

"I –" He stopped, catching his breath. This was the hardest thing he'd ever done. For so long he'd believed that he wasn't good enough for her, that after her husband, she deserved more than a dirty, good for nothing, Dixon. But, his search for Sophia and every kill, every hunt, and every run after that, all of it had been about proving to himself, and to her, that he was good enough. Until this moment, he had thought it hadn't been enough.

Finally, here they were and he knew she wouldn't reject him, wouldn't turn away from him. He knew that she cared for him like he cared for her and Daryl was faced with an even greater problem. Because now that they had crossed this line, he'd opened himself up to the one thing he'd feared even more than her rejection. Daryl had spent years protecting himself, turned inward, curled up and hunched over, protecting his softer, tender parts. She had become one of them and he knew that losing her would break him and, in the world they lived in, that was a daily possibility.

Carol stood up, letting go of his hand, but only to walk around to him. Daryl scrambled out from the table to stand in front of her. She took his two hands in hers.

"Dance with me," she said with a small smile.

He shifted, uncomfortable. "Ain't no music."

She pulled him away from the table into a clearing lit softly by a lantern. "The music is up here," she said, pointing to her head. She put one hand on his shoulder and took his other hand in hers. "Just shuffle," she murmured, swaying to music she heard in her head. "Now go two steps left and one back."

Daryl followed her lead, bowing his head as he concentrated, trying to hear what she heard in her head. His sense of discomfort seeped away, replaced by the fascination of being this close to her. The smell of her made him dizzy and there was a warmth rising from her skin that filled his senses. He moved closer to her, following her lead, until eventually, he caught on and with a subtle pressure on her hand, he took over.

Carol leaned back and looked up at him, searching his face, reading him. "I'm terrified too," she whispered. "But I love you enough to risk living with that fear every day. I'd rather love you and deal with the fear and the pain of losing you, than never know what this love feels like." She reached up and ran a finger down his cheek, to the collar of his shirt. "This shirt, the fancy dinner, none of this matters to me as much as what is right here." She pressed her hand over his heart. "Cause what you have here is worth living for, no matter what."

Her words shattered him. "Shut up," he said roughly, and dropping her hand, he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her towards him, into his arms. He slammed his mouth over hers in a rough, desperate kiss. As he drove his tongue into her mouth, Daryl felt years of anger and fear and frustration explode within him. He had waited so long for her, to taste her. Daryl thought that he'd probably been waiting for her his entire life, to get lost in her taste, clean, fresh, and alive. In a world filled with death and depravity, she was his lodestar, his shining path through the blood and gore.

He slid his hands up her arms and gripped her head, tilting it to the side so he could plunder her mouth more deeply. He pushed her back until they stumbled against the table. Then he lifted her, setting her on the table, and his shaking hands pushed her dress up and over her knees, bunching it up around her hips. He moved forward until he was between her thighs. He could feel her damp heat and he knew that he was closer to her than he'd ever been.

He gasped her name, thrusting against her, hands gripping her hips, his mouth hard on hers.

He was just so damned desperate for her.

And he was so damned scared of her.

She whispered his name and slipped her hands beneath his shirt. Gently she ran her hand down his skin, softly tracing out the scars on his back.

Daryl froze.

Her touch on his heated skin was the softest, most gentle caress he'd ever felt. And as she touched his damaged, flawed flesh, he felt the shame rush over him in waves.

This was Carol. The sweetest woman left in the world. Abused and broken by the man she'd trusted. And yet, she could still find it in herself to touch Daryl Dixon with tenderness. While he – he pawed at her like an animal. In that moment, he was stunned at the purity of her heart and the selflessness of each one of her gestures and he suddenly saw himself: the groping hands, the punishing kiss. He saw himself as a Dixon.

He gasped, shuddering, and the arms that had gripped her so painfully, went limp. He dropped his head to her shoulder, pulling in deep, trembling breaths that wracked his entire body. Tears poured from his eyes and he pressed his face into her neck, trying to stifle the sobs. Giving in to it all, he wrapped his arms around her and clung to her. Carol held him close as he sobbed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, choking on words he didn't think he'd ever spoken in his life. Dixons never apologized for anything, his father had always said. In that moment, Daryl felt himself step away from all the bad Dixon moments of his past. "I'm sorry for not saving your little girl," he whispered hoarsely. "And I'm sorry for the way I talked to you in the stables that night, for the way I've yelled at you. For how I've pushed you away, and I'm sorry for the way I touched you tonight. I'm sorry for everything." As he spoke, he felt a shift within him, as if a weight had been lifted.

"I know," she whispered. "I've always known."

Carol lifted his face to hers and Daryl saw the tears she'd also shed. She wiped his away, drying his face gently, and he felt stronger than he ever had.

"I know," she whispered, her gaze searching his. "I understand." Then she reached up and softly kissed his lips. It was a hesitant kiss, awkward and searching. Daryl pressed back, tilting his head, trying to find a balance between his needs and hers. When Carol softly gasped, trying to catch her breath, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, searching for that lovely heat again. His heart raced when she sighed, and he felt her entire body soften against his, giving in. They sank into each other's arms, holding on to each other as their kiss deepened.

She tangled her fingers in the shortened hair at the nape of his neck and Daryl shuddered as the heat coursed through his veins. In a reciprocal gesture, he ran his hands through her hair, scraping his nails lightly over her scalp and down her neck. He was rewarded with a soft, ragged moan, and Carol pushed closer to him, deepening the kiss. She stole the very air from him, into her lungs, until he felt breathless and lightheaded.

When they broke the kiss, Carol rested her head against his chest, her entire body trembling.

"I don't think I can walk," she whispered in embarrassment.

He smiled and ran his hands up and down her back, not wanting to break the contact, needing to touch her. "Ain't the first time I got to carry you," he joked.

She chuckled, tightening her arms around him, hugging him close. He felt her small hands run down his spine and settle in the small of his back. Without another word, he swung her up into his arms and made his way back inside where he gently laid her down on the pile of blankets. He knelt down beside her.

"Carol, I hav-"

Shaking her head, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Go do what you need to do."

They had changed, but the world they lived in hadn't and Daryl needed to keep her safe, now more than ever.

"I want it right for you," he murmured.

"And I want it right for us," she corrected. "Go clean up and check the perimeter and make sure we're safe."

He took her hand, turned it over and pressed a kiss in the center of her palm. He wasn't sure where these gestures were coming from, where the need to do these things sprang from. All he knew was that touching her felt righter than anything else ever had in his entire life.

"I'll be right back," he said, standing up. He glanced down at her and smiled softly. "Don't fall asleep."

She leaned back against the wall, looking tousled and a little befuddled and he felt a sense of pride that he'd done that, he'd put that look on her face. He stepped away.

"Daryl?"

He turned and glanced back, not wanting to leave her there, but knowing he had too. "Yeah?"

"This date? Better than the best I've ever had," she said shyly.

"Guess your best must 'a been pretty bad," he teased. Then he smiled and turned, and walked out into the night.


	10. Sweet but Tough

AN: Thank you so much for all your support and encouragement! It was much appreciated!

I really struggled with this last chapter. Guess I didn't want it to end, but I do have a little epilogue written that I will post.

Rating on this one changes from a T to an M and I make no apologies for any cheesiness that crept into this chapter LOL I'm a romantic at heart :)

Disclaimer: I do not own TWD

Sweet but Tough

When he was done cleaning up and securing the site, Daryl stood for a moment, staring up at the night sky. It amazed him how bright the stars were now that there were no big city lights or pollution to dim them. Their world was in a tailspin but at times it occurred to him that it was spinning in reverse, returning them to a time when things were less civilized in some ways, but just more simple and straight forward in others. This new world held less advantages, less conveniences, and had cost humanity immeasurable losses. But, if Daryl were to be asked, he'd admit that, if not for the biters, this was a world that he could live in; it was a world where he finally measured up.

He turned and walked to the door with sure steps. There was no hesitation this time as he turned the handle and walked in. She was there, waiting for him, the greatest gift this new world had offered to him. He closed the door behind him and headed to the corner where they had been spending their nights. Pausing, he leaned against the wall and stared.

Carol had her back to him, her head bowed. She'd changed out of the pretty dress and folded it carefully. She'd put it on a shelf, with the heels, perfume, and makeup, and she'd changed back into the loose slacks and the long sleeve t-shirt she'd started sleeping in when the nights turned cold. She was standing there, so still, and he didn't want to disturb her; he didn't know what she was doing. So he just took a moment to admired the curve of her neck and the glowing skin of her nape.

As if sensing him, she straightened and turned around.

"Hey," he said softly.

She smiled. "All good out there?"

"Good for the moment," he replied, walking slowly towards her. "You ok?"

She nodded, her hands clutching the cross around her neck. "Absolutely."

"Seemed pretty involved there."

"Just praying," she murmured, moving towards him, meeting him halfway.

Daryl set the crossbow down and he frowned. "Praying? For what?"

She shook her head and, reaching him, slid her arms around his waist, burrowing into his warmth. Daryl hesitated, and then wrapped his arms around her, reminding himself that he could.

"Not _for_ something, but to _give_ something. I was just taking a moment to give thanks."

He bowed his head, resting his cheek against her silky hair. "What you givin' thanks for?"

"For you," she said simply.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't think JC had ever heard anyone giving thanks for Daryl Dixon's existence.

"Should be me sayin' thanks," he murmured. He ran his hands slowly up her back.

They held each other in silence for a moment.

"Carol," he said, breaking it.

"Hmmm?" she murmured, snuggling closer to him.

"I'm – I'm not sure how to go about this," he mumbled.

She leaned back and stared at his flushed face. "You were doing great outside," she reminded him. "And it's not like I have any clue either. Things with Ed wer-"

Daryl pressed a kiss against her mouth, effectively shutting her up. "I don't want you thinkin' about him," he told her. "That's over and whatever happened between the two of you, well, I won't lie and say that I know what the hell I'm doin' here, but I sure as hell know it's gonna be better than that."

She grinned and chuckled softly. "Then let's just go with what feels good."

He pressed his forehead against hers, his face burning. "With you it all feels good." He nuzzled her chin, and following the scent she'd dabbed behind her ears, he ran his lips along her jawline. Following his instincts, he pulled her earlobe between his teeth and tugged gently. Carol gasped and he felt her tremble as she pressed her length closer to his. "Is ok?"

"More than ok," she whispered huskily.

Daryl grinned and wrapping his callused hand around the nape of her neck, he tilted her head to the side, going for her other ear. This time, instead of a nibble, he pulled her earlobe into his hot mouth and sucked on it, running his tongue over it until he felt Carol catch her breath. Her hands reached up and clutched his back for stability.

"Want this to be good for you," he murmured against her ear. "You deserve a bed at least."

Carol leaned back and stared at him in admonishment. "I am not waiting till we find a bed!"

Daryl laughed. "Hell no! I said you deserved one, didn't say you were gettin' one." He grabbed her around the waist and lifting her into his arms, he carried her to their nest of blankets and towels. "If you could pretend that creek water was white wine, you sure as hell can pretend this pile of blankets is a mattress."

Carol laughed as he set her down and he followed her, angling his body over hers. Daryl cut off her laughter with a deep, searching kiss. Their tongues tangled in a warm, wet war, neither giving ground. He slipped his hands under her t-shirt and slid it up over her stomach, over her breasts, and pulled it off her head. It tangled in her arms and he chuckled roughly. "Maybe I should leave you like that," he said, staring down at her, hands bound up in the t-shirt above her head.

Carol grinned. "Then I can't touch you," she pointed out.

He cocked an eyebrow and nodded. "Hell with that," he muttered and pulled the t-shirt off and tossed it the side.

Carol went to work on his shirt, laughing as she unbuttoned it. Frustrated by how long it was taking her, Daryl sat up and pulled it off over his head. "Damn shirt." He turned back to her and paused, taking a moment to look down at her. She was so pale, so frail, he couldn't imagine anyone ever hurting her.

As if struck by a sudden shyness, Carol covered her small breasts with her hands and looked away from him.

With one finger, Daryl gently turned her face back to his. "Don't hide or look away from me," he said softly. "Never feel you have to do that."

"Ok," she whispered, letting her hands drop to her side.

He reached out and ran a hand over her shoulder, tracing out her collarbone and watching the skin tremble beneath his touch. Gooseflesh popped up and the pale, silver hairs on her arms stood up as she shivered. He rubbed down her arm, then back up and finally, brushed his hand over a breast, watching the nipple darken and harden. Unable to hold back the groan at this obvious sign of her arousal, Daryl bent down and sought out her lips in another scorching kiss.

It was a match set to dry kindling. They fought each other's clothes, pulling at buttons and kicking off pants until they lay, flesh to flesh, their entire lengths pressed up against each other, bodies entwined. Daryl's skin burned where it touched hers and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. He didn't think about it: his hands and mouth seemed to know where to touch, where to kiss. If she ran a hand across his hip and it felt good, he did the same to her. And together they charted the topography of each other's bodies, learning what felt good, what felt even better. And when he hooked her leg over his hip and sank into her warmth, Daryl lost all memory of who he had been before that exact moment. Because there, inside Carol, was where he had always needed to be, in order to truly be the man he was meant to be.

He pressed deeper and gasped her name. She arched her back, digging her nails into his hips, pulling him closer, urging him to move faster. What she asked for, Daryl gave. And as they moved together they found the rhythm that was unique and theirs alone. He shuddered, pressing his face into the curve of her neck, overwhelmed by her scent, by her taste, by the feel of her heat wrapped around him. He thrust again, and again, and he felt her stiffen, heard her moan, and he sank his teeth into her shoulder, biting back his own whimper as he gave up control and lost himself in the moment.

When it was done, he couldn't bear to be apart from her. He simply wrapped his arms around her and rolled on to his back, keeping her with him, staying deep inside her.

"Don't leave me," he murmured tiredly. His hand felt around on the floor and grabbing a blanket, he threw it over them, keeping them warm.

Carol tucked her head under his chin and sprawled on top of him. "Never," she whispered, a satisfied smile playing across her lips.

He ran his hands down her sweaty back, soothing her, until both their breathing settled into a calm rhythm.

"You ok?" he asked gently.

"Better than ok." She shifted slightly and he groaned and stilled her.

"Uh uh, don't move," he murmured.

She chuckled and settled in. "Why did we wait so long?"

It was his turn to laugh. "Cause I'm a dumbass."

Her body shook as she held back her laughter and Daryl lifted his head off the blankets and stared up at her blearily. "I think you're supposed to deny that."

"Why? It's true!"

He shook his head tiredly and reaching up, kissed her. "If we did this every night, we'd have no energy left to kill biters."

She snorted and rested her head back down on his chest. "Then we better find another place that has no biters, cause I'm going to be wanting this every night."

"Damn woman," he muttered, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. "Go to sleep. I need some rest."

Carol smiled, pressed a kiss to his chest, closed her eyes, and slept.

* * *

The morning light peeking through the boarded up windows played across his eyelids and Daryl slowly woke. He stretched, his hand reaching out, searching for her. When he found only empty, cold blankets, he was seized with panic and he shot up, automatically reaching for his crossbow. A glance around showed that Carol had gotten up before him, dressed and packed up her few belongings. He stood, feeling uneasy at having overslept. Dragging his pants on and slipping into his boots, he caught site of the shirt he'd worn the night before. It was hanging on a nail in the wall and looked rather ragged. Grabbing it, he held it out and started laughing. A low sound, rusty from lack of use, his laughter grew as he stared at the shirt.

Carol had torn the sleeves off of it.

He heard the door open behind him and he turned to face her, still chuckling.

"Thought that would be more you," she pointed out, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

He nodded, grinning, and shrugged into the shirt, buttoning it up. "Better." Looking at her, he wanted to go to her and pull her into his arms, kiss her good morning. Shyness stopped his gesture and he picked up the crossbow and slung it over his shoulder. "No problems out there this mornin'?"

She shook her head, casually leaning against the doorframe. "Nope. I packed up the last of our things, so whenever you're ready, we can head out."

He looked embarrassed. "Sorry I slept so long."

She smiled slightly and stepping away from the door, walked towards him. "It's ok. You were tired and you looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you up. Besides, we're in this together, I can help out too." Reaching him, she adjusted his collar and then she kissed him softly. "Time to go."

Daryl closed his eyes for a moment in gratitude at her gesture and the ease in which she touched him and showed her affection. "Time to go," he murmured.

Carol stepped away and gathered up the blankets that were still warm from their sleeping bodies while Daryl took one last look around the station to see if they had missed anything of use or value. They walked out, letting the door shut behind them.

"There's some coffee and oatmeal," she said. "I used the last of the creek water we had from last night and some of those muscadine grapes you pointed out to me. I found a patch growing along the road, they tasted good."

He nodded, impressed. She was watching and learning, just like he had. By the end of the winter, he would make sure that she could survive off the land on her own if she ever had too. If, for whatever reason, he wasn't there. He walked over to the picnic table and drank the last of the coffee and ate the lukewarm oatmeal. The grapes were sweet at this time of year, their skins tough. Glancing over at Carol as she tossed their blankets into the cab of the truck, Daryl smiled. They reminded him of a certain someone. As he downed his last sip of coffee, he watched her walk towards him, noting that there was something different about the way she moved. He watched, trying to pinpoint it, and he realised the difference was in her arms. Carol had a certain way of walking with her arms either tucked close to her sides, or crossed over her chest. She'd always moved as if she were trying to hold herself together, protect herself from harm. Now, as she walked towards him, her arms swung loosely at her sides.

He smiled.

She cocked an eyebrow as she reached his side. "What?"

"Nothin'," he murmured, setting the bowl down. She reached for it and he stopped her. "I can take care of it," he said. "Go do what you need to do and we'll hit the road."

She nodded and left it. Before she headed into the woods to take care of any personal business, Daryl noted that she grabbed the hunting knife from the table. He sighed at this reminder that no matter how much things had changed between them, what potentially lurked in those woods or up the road at some junction, hadn't magically disappeared.

When she came back, he'd tidied up and had set fire to the bodies they had piled at the side of the road. With the fall as wet as it had been, he wasn't concerned about the fire spreading. Carol joined him and stared down at the biters as their clothes began to smoulder. She slipped her hand into Daryl's and rested her head on his shoulder.

"You ready?"

He nodded.

Hand in hand, they walked towards the truck. Getting in, Daryl started the ignition, glanced over at Carol, and smiled. She grinned back and then slid across the seat till she was seated closer to him. Resting her head on his shoulder, she stared out the window as Daryl put the truck into drive and headed west.


	11. Epilogue

AN: Many thanks! Sad to see it all come to an end, but it was fun while it lasted :) Hope you all enjoyed it!

Disclaimer: I do not own TWD

Epilogue

What would have taken about 40 minutes a year ago, seemed to take hours as Daryl drove the pickup up old highway 411. At the turn off to the old logging road, they pulled the truck over and searched the roadside for some sign that the others had gone through. Daryl joked that they'd find a body part of some sort as Merle's calling card – either one of his or Glenn's. Instead, they found an empty beer bottle with two notes in it dated from the day before.

There was no denying the relief they felt when they realised they were the last to arrive and everyone else had made the trip safely.

Carol remembered the old dirt road that lead up the ridge into the mountains. The camp had shut down a couple of years before the virus had hit and the road had suffered through a couple winters without any upkeep. Daryl drove carefully, avoiding downed trees and large potholes. Stacks of fresh wood at the side of the road at a couple points suggested that whichever group had arrived first had had to clear the road of debris. As they drove along the steep, winding road, Daryl hummed the familiar banjo rift from Deliverance and Carol laughed, shaking her head.

Finally, after another painstaking half hour, they drove beneath the crumbling wooden sign that had at one point read, 'Believers Bible Camp'. The others must have heard the truck coming up the road because they were there, waiting. As Daryl pulled the truck up and shut it off, Carol jumped from the cab and ran to Maggie, Beth, and baby Judith. She wrapped all three of them in an emotional group hug.

Daryl got out more slowly, grabbed his crossbow, and walked over to his brother.

"Hey lil' Brother," Merle drawled. "What took ya so long? You and Sugar Peach take a honeymoon?"

Daryl folded his brother in a rough hug. "Shut up." He held him tight, grateful to have that moment, thankful they were both alive.

Merle, taken aback by the sudden show of emotion, laughed and stepped back. "Whooee! You all kinds of soft now, brother."

"Fuck off, Merle," Daryl replied and shook his head. He turned to Rick and gestured to the truck. "Brought some supplies."

Rick grinned. He seemed calmer and Daryl could only guess that somewhere along his own route, Rick had outrun a couple of his own demons. "I see that. Between all of us, we are pretty well set for supplies this winter. Did you run into any trouble?"

Daryl shook his head. "Nah. A couple of pile ups on the Interstate and one outside Fairmount. But things seemed pretty quiet. You?"

Rick nodded. "Some trouble on the I-575 and more by Waleska, but Carl and I handled it."

Daryl looked around for the boy. "How is he?"

Rick frowned and shook his head. "Struggling," he murmured. "But he seems to have taken a liking to this place. He's fishing down by the lake."

Looking around at the camp, Daryl knew that if there was any place that could help Carl regain what he'd lost while in that prison, this place was it. There were about a dozen ramshackle cabins circling a clearing. The road led in to one end of the clearing and at the other sparkled a small, crystal clear blue lake. Surrounding them was the pristine Blue Ridge mountain forests. As he looked back at the lake, he saw Carl hurrying towards them, the boy's signature hat on his head.

"He'll be fine," he said, squinting into the sunlight glittering off the lake. "This is a good place."

Rick nodded, looking around.

Daryl felt a slap on his back and turned to Glenn.

"You can thank me later for not killing your brother about a hundred times," Glenn said and Daryl snorted. "In all seriousness, I've had enough Merle to last me a lifetime. Now I know why you turned out the way you did."

Daryl just shook his head. "I'll hold off on them thanks for now," he muttered looking over at his brother.

"What?" Merle said, arms spread open wide. "I didn't do nothin'!"

"Just keep him away from me and Maggie for the time being," Glenn warned.

Rick eyed him sharply and then gestured to the cabins. "Carl and I've set up in this one over here with Beth and Judith at the moment, and Maggie and Glenn are in the one next door. Merle picked the furthest one out there by the lake. We figured you'd be bunking with him and Carol might want to stay with us. They're filthy and in rough shape and we've got our work cut out to winterize them, but it's going to work," Rick explained.

Daryl glanced over the cabins. There was no way he was bunking with his brother. He eyed the one next to Glenn's and nodded. It would be fine for him and Carol. "We-"

A gurgle sounded to his right and he turned. His heart seemed to tumble over in his chest as he watched Carol walk towards him with baby Judith.

"There's my lil' ass kicker," he murmured.

"You can't keep calling her that," Carol admonished with a smile.

Daryl held his arms out and took the baby from her. He pressed his face to Judith's and breathed in her warm, soft baby smell. "I'm gonna call you whatever I want," he murmured to the baby and grinned when she gurgled and smiled up at him. He looked up and chuckled. "See?"

Carol rolled her eyes and shook her head. She slid her arm around his waist, leaning into him, and looked down at the baby.

Merle whistled and laughed. "I told you so! Start paying up Officer Friendly. You owe me that bottle of whisky you found. You too Bruce Lee – pay up! I told you they weren't held up by no biters. You didn't believe me, but I knew what was goin' on. I knew that that Old Dixon charm was what was takin' 'em so long! Some of that Old Merle Magic must 'a rubbed off on my lil' brother!"

Daryl looked up, shook his head, and sighed. It was going to be one hell of a long winter.


End file.
